


Fire and Gunpowder

by Gaearnith



Series: One Piece Works || Reader Inserts [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Ahoy Matey, Angst, Blood, Brawls, Chapter Titles Have Been Added, Crushes, Drinking, F/M, Fear, Fighting, Guilt, Guns, Hurt, Late Night Writing, Main character is scared like half the time lmao, Narcolepsy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirates, Please Don't Hurt Me, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Self-Hatred, Side Pairing May Be Possible, Summary Has Been Changed, Swords, Timeline may be a little messed up!!, but know that editing is being done, but she'll get better, events might be out of order, friendship to relationship, iDK tho, if so tell me!, minor!Jealousy, there might be holes here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaearnith/pseuds/Gaearnith
Summary: After a gruelling battle against the marines, you lose your ship, friends, and reputation and are stranded at sea. When you finally give up on the hope of salvation, the infamous Whitebeard pirates swoop in and save you, where you catch a certain freckled man's eye.





	1. Cornelian Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> So after nearly a year of not posting anything, I decided to sit down and finally write something. I've recently gotten into one piece again, so I decided to type this up. Took me several days to do the first chapter, and as all beginnings go, it might be a little sloppy. I still hope you enjoyed, though!
> 
> Contains: Swearing and violence (although my descriptions may be quite... uh... lacking. Still need to practice!).
> 
> All mistakes are mine, btw. I tend to make those when I type lol.
> 
> Also, I'm still practicing writing in this point of view. Not that I'm really any better at writing in any other point of view, but y'know... Practice!

When you stepped into the life of piracy and heavy alcoholic drinks, you didn’t think you’d be successful. You thought that the moment you let your flag fly and the ocean waves greet you that you’d be dead within the week. That you’d be meeting the ocean floor with nothing but the remains of the small ship you’d managed to acquire to keep your corpse company.

That, unlike many you had heard of, was not the case for you. Sometime after you’d joined the fight to be the greatest pirate there ever was, you’d picked up a loyal crew and a brig that you’d proudly declared your new home. Not to mention enough beli to keep you sated for an extensive period of time.

It was three months into plundering that you finally heard your name whispered and passed along at islands you’d stop at to gather supplies and rest. Sometimes, you were a group’s entire conversation. And although it shocked you at first, the surprise wore off eventually. Why you were growing in fame became apparent, and that was because you weren’t a devil-fruit user, unlike many other famous pirates out there. You were just a normal 18 year old, who grew bored and turned to the most dangerous lifestyle out there in hope of a change. Well, normal was a bit of a stretch if your love for gunpowder was taken into account.

There was a certain thing to gunpowder that attracted you for some odd reason. The explosion, the sound, the smell... whatever it was, it lured you in. It was why you'd taken to guns so happily and were now sporting four of them. Having been too poor to purchase guns straight away, you'd gathered your trusty friends as you journeyed along. Every time a gun piqued your interest, you examine it, shoot it experimentally, and decide whether it was worth your time. It was this small quirk that terrified so many, for whatever reason. The fear was palpable whenever you and your crew marched inland to restock. You'd enter a store with your long coat fluttering behind you gracefully, and scrutinized every single weapon there. Sometimes, if you were feeling irritable, you'd test the gun out on the nearest moron trying to mess with your day, which happened far too often. People wouldn't take you seriously for your stature, your face, your gender... whatever else, and it angered you. And so, you'd put a bullet in their bodies. This was how most rumours of a new menace came about.

They’d called you merciless, insane, or even a devil, and you loved it. You revelled in it, all thanks to the fact that with word reaching other places, more pirates would catch your name. More challengers, more people to defeat. And the Marines.

Now that was something that you had been looking forward to.

Soon, you had made a name for yourself in East Blue, and the so-called incredible marines were hot on your heels, trying to bring your streak to a halt. So far, your encounters with them had ended with ships sinking, people dying, people joining your crew, and your bounty rising to a good 35,000,000 beli.

All in all, it was a fairly decent life.

And it got even better when you entered the Grand Line and set anchor on an island where a couple other ships were also moored to the pier. Having snagged a log pose from some sucker, you'd promptly announced to your crew that you were entering the most dangerous ocean of them all. Most had cheered and whooped in glee at the proposition, while some of your closest friends gently reminded you that it was best to slow down. You'd listened, of course, as they were your crew and you were their captain, but after a short while, those friends caved into the thirst for bigger challenge, as well.

The island you'd anchored at was quiant. It was small, nameless, and a place where you could keep a low profile for a little while. While you loved the recognition, sometimes you understood your crew needed a break, and so you provided. Most often than not, whenever your crew were fatigued, you were as well, so you allowed it with a wave of a hand and a confident smile.

Sighing in relief, you grumbled as you rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder, where you had been hit in your last battle with (surprise, surprise) the marines. Turning away from the island, you watched as your crew breathed sighs that sounded just as grateful as yours. A hiss of pain escaped your throat when you stepped down from your brig, the sharp pain in your arm making you think twice about moving it. You directed your attention to the bar not too far away from the docks, set up in that location for worn out travellers much like yourself.

Smiling, you gripped a crewmate’s shoulder. “All of you head to the tavern. I’ll join you soon.” He beamed at you, shoulders drooping. Not a second later, he was dropping his task of repairing the railing of your ship and telling everyone that they were free to go. Everyone rejoiced and filed out of your ship. Soon, it was only you, with the distant squawking of a seagull and the sound of the waves as your company. When they all disappeared into the building, you took a deep breath, letting your lungs fill with the distinct smell of salt. You held it for a second or two before exhaling with a grin. The feeling of standing on something that wasn’t constantly swaying had all but escaped your mind.

With a nod to yourself, you headed to the bar, keeping an ear out for any gossip. You heard your name as you strolled by, even getting a few looks of wonder or of pure fear from others. You’d chuckle to yourself whenever that happened.

When you reached the small building, you pushed the door open and entered the rather crowded place. The smell of alcohol and sweat hit you hard, but you were more than used to it. You sent a couple of your crewmates a grin when they noticed you, and received a couple greetings and nods in return. Walking to the counter, you scanned the area, a hand reaching for the hilt of one of your swords. You were feared, sure, but you could never be too careful when it came to drunks.

You stopped when you stood in front of a stool, sitting down on the shaky seat. You waved a lazy hand at the guy manning the counter, a smirk still playing at your lips. The man raised an eyebrow at you as he approached you, his voice low as he asked, “What can I get for ya?”

You placed a couple beli on the counter. “Whatever you have.” You said with another wave, though this one was more dismissive, and looked around the place full of people. With a nod that you missed, the man went to fetch you your drink, returning swiftly. You smiled your thanks, before grabbing the beverage and taking a careful sip. The harsh taste made you cringe slightly, and you gave your refreshment a look, but you continued to drink anyway. You’d had worse at other places.

You could hear your crew growing rowdier as the alcohol loosened their tongues, and you raised an eyebrow as they burst into a song that you couldn’t recognize because of how slurred their speech was starting to become. Shaking your head, you let them do what they wanted, uncaring. When you were halfway done with your drink, you looked up and immediately noticed the bartender giving your crew nasty looks. You rapped your hand on the counter in warning. They may be drunk and tired, but they were more than willing to fight. The man glanced at you and blinked the expression away, defeated.

When you finally finished your drink and left the pub, it was close to night time. You headed back to your brig, which was still swaying with the waves, to retire for the night. You had completely ignored some of your wounds, too, only taking care of the ones that could’ve gotten infected had you left them unattended for too long. Letting out a yawn, you climbed onto your ship, heading to your own room. It was time to check those injuries, and for some much-needed rest.

(x)

You woke up to the lovely squawking and cries of seagulls sitting outside. With a loud groan, you rolled over on your bed, tugging the covers over your head to block the noise.

“Just… shut up…” You told no one, eye scrunching. When the sounds continued, you opened them blearily. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands, you waited a couple seconds, silently willing them to stop. You found sweet relief when they did, in fact, halt, but they returned soon enough. Annoyed, you threw the covers off you, grabbed the closest thing you could throw and dragged yourself to the door, pushing it open. Stepping outside, you pulled back your arm and threw the object you grabbed, which you found out was one of your shoes, at the animal. It flapped its wings, rising from the ship’s railing and flying away with a shrill cry, essentially censoring the colourful words you yelled after it.

After the creature was well above you, you sighed and seized your shoe from the floor.

 _Mornings_.

Your eyes rolled to the sparkling blue ocean, and you sighed again. It was time to set sail. Your crew would be pissed at you, but you were they knew you were afraid of being attacked while docked. There was less advantage, and who knew what could happen if the villagers here decided to band together and fight you. You had also learned that staying in an island for more than a week was the worst decision you could ever make. It gave both the marines and thieves the chance to try and kill you and snatch whatever you had salvaged. The first time you had set anchor, you’d stayed at the island you’d stopped at for four days. On one of those nights, you were knocked over with a knife at your throat while heading to bed.

Obviously, you hadn't allowed the idiot to get away. You had promptly kicked him in that unspoken place then set sail.

But speaking of attacks, was that a marine ship in the distance? The familiar insignia and the giant words printed carefully on the sails told you as much.

…

So yes, yes it was.

Cursing and rubbing your eyes again, you yelled, “GET UP! MARINES!” And ran back to your room, dressing in your usual attire and strapping several weapons onto your body. Two flintlocks strapped to your chest, two swords at each hip, several daggers, and another flintlock at your lower back. Such was the life of a normal human with nothing but her weapons and her combat-skills at her disposal.

You could already hear your crew calling several things outside, most of the comments actually being complaints, and you went outside again to yell your own commands. Soon, you were sailing towards the enemy at full speed, ready to ram them to the bottom of the ocean. Arms crossed, you glared hard at the approaching marines, their ship easily overshadowing yours. You didn’t let that frighten you.

You were already expecting their first shot. You were also expecting it to miss. It was what the Marines did each time as a warning as an order to back down, but their demands went unheard. Soon enough, a cannonball was flying through the air towards you. Instead of meeting your ship, though, it hit the water a good distance away and you huffed. Really, with all the ships you had sent to their doom, you’d expect them to skip the warning shot and go straight for the kill. It'd been so far that it hadn't even seemed like a warning shot, either.

“Their aim is still as shitty as ever.” You mumbled, before turning the ship and signalling to your crew to fire. Cannonballs zipped back and forth, with several shouts and commands leaving your lungs in hurried words. The racing of your heart and the constant screaming from your friends kept you grounded, and you exhaled shakily, excitement buzzing inside you.

It was long before you covered some distance. Since your ship was still damaged from your last raid, you had ordered your crew to keep it at away. Then, you moved in. Due to the constant movement, it took a while to finally get some good hits in. But when you did, excited cheers rose above the sound of waves crashing and cannons firing, bringing a wicked smile to your face. You added to the screaming with your own hollers, savouring the strength they provided you. Your crew was strong, you knew that, but there was always that sliver of fear in your heart that could easily be turned into something worse if provoked. And you could not let that happen.

When the marines quit firing, you angled your ship towards them and rammed the head into them full speed, both ships groaning and protesting at the sudden impact. The tip of your ship was digging painfully into the other’s side, creating a large gash and sending sailors off balance. Water seeped into the gap, and you feared that the ship would sink before you could board it, but it remained afloat. More sounds of sharp cracking reached you, and you knew you had now created a weak spot on their ship. Moving away, you distanced your ship from the enemy again.

“We’re not going to get a chance like that again, (name).” One of your members told you, still watching the enemy’s ship as you continued to space yourself from them. You gave the other ship a thoughtful look, before nodding in agreement.

“Move closer!” You ordered, gaining your crewmembers’ attention, “We’re going to board these fuckers right now!” Cheering reached your ears again, and you breathed an airy laugh that was cut short when a cannonball cracked against the side of your ship. It swayed unsteadily for a bit, and you held onto the nearest railing, the people on board doing the same. Growling, you turned your ship again, closing in again within less than a minute.

When the gap between you and the enemy was reduced, you took several steps back before running full speed to the edge of your ship, using the railing as a stepping stone towards your goal. You landed on their ship with a thud, rolling forward as you pull two of your guns free and fire at the two closest men. The two fell to the ground, clutching the spots where the bullets pierced their skin. You turned to another pair, unsheathing your swords and striking them down in a flurry of calculated motions. This continued on for a while, and not too long afterwards, some of your crew joined you in battle.

All the screaming and yelling made it hard to really hear anyone sneaking up on you, and as you were fighting another man, you didn’t notice a scrawny looking boy with a sword in his shaking hand coming up behind you until it was too late. The sword pierced your side as you moved to the left, and you let out a short cry, your own blood covering the shiny blade. Stumbling, you paused but did not allow your mind to register what had happened. You quickly turned, cutting down your attacker with a grimace on your flushed face. He collapsed, his sword flying from his grasp, but whether he was dead or not you did not know. Panting, you checked out your brand new injury, annoyed and mortified at the fact that you’d been stabbed.

“First time for everything, I suppose…” You said as you placed a hand on your side, the warm liquid seeping from the gash staining your clothes and dirtying your fingers. For being so scared and nervous, the guy sure had cut deep, and as you continued to strike down more and more men (where the hell did they keep coming from?), you felt yourself gradually grow dizzier and your movements get sloppier. Blood dripped onto the ground, its crimson trail following you and giving your position away to those that wanted to kill you themselves. Most had given up on fighting your crew and aimed to end this by targetting you, but you continued giving it your best.

You spun around, focusing on another group giving some of your mates a hard time. Slipping past more of your attackers, you charged at a man whose back was to you. Launching yourself forward, you landed on his back, pushing him to the ground. The man yelped in surprise, and before he could make another noise, you were unsheathing one of your daggers and stabbing him repeatedly. Discarding the knife, you rose from the now dead marine and blocked a blow from another, your swords clashing with a harsh _clang_. You pushed your sword into his, muscles straining at the effort, but he wasn’t giving up. Both of you leaned back or forth in an attempt to throw the other off to no avail. Growing tired, you dodged to the side, shooting him with the flintlock you had strapped to your lower back. He too fell to the ground, and you felt the insults you were getting ready to throw his way die at your throat when the colour red flashed before your eyes and pain was the only thing you felt. You swung your sword wildly, successfully hitting your attacker and giving you some time to check for anyone else aiming their gun at you. Seeing that there was no one holding you at gunpoint as of now, you looked down at yourself, seeing several tears in your clothing, as well as several darkening bruises. Adrenaline kicked in, and the searing pain in your side faded away into a dull hum.

You hadn’t really noticed, but you had taken quite a few hits because of the state you were in. The blood trickling down your chin made that much clear, and so did the numerous cuts on your hands and body.

“Goddamn cowards.” You growled, keeping one of your feet down and pivoting, glaring hard at the marines that had formed a circle around you. “Attacking me when I’m not looking…” Truly, it was pathetic. If they were going to fight a _normal_ human such as yourself, the least they could do was fight you properly. A fist collided with the side of your face and then you were on your knees, down to one sword and flintlock. You aimed the gun at the closest marine, but before you could put a bullet in between another man's eyes, it was booted out of your hands and you were pushed to the ground, a flinch twisting your features as you felt your most recent wounds opening even further.

Glaring with all your might, you watched as they slowly trudged towards you, all equally tired of fighting you and your crew. Speaking of your crew, you looked around with slow movements, too hurt to do anything too quickly. The sight before your eyes was, to say the least, terrifying. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, blood seeping from several wounds and slipping through the cracks between the battered floorboards. From your position, it looked like a sea of red, bodies, and abandoned swords. Your vision was too blurred for you to be able to make out anyone you actually recognized, but seeing as most outfits still moving about were white and blue, you assumed that your crew was close to being wiped out.

 _'Guess I wasn't as strong as I thought…'_ You thought bitterly, a burst of fear sparking inside you. Pointedly, you ignored it, choosing to shake your head instead.

Well, you certainly weren’t going to go down without a fight, then. Groaning, you placed your hand on your most wounded side again, sitting up painfully slowly and sliding backwards until your back hit the foremast. You watched through half-lidded eyes and blurred vision as marines continued to stalk towards you, before they stopped, turning to one man who barked out an order that you missed. Holding up your sword, you stood on shaking legs, your free hand on the mast so you wouldn’t lose your balance. You were really starting to feel sick, and dizzy- _especially_ dizzy. Glancing down, you took in the sight of red stained clothing. Seeing all the blood and all the bodies made your eyes fill with tears, the heartache being close to suffocating you, but you weren’t about to show any weaknesses, so you blinked them away and took a deep breath.

If you were going to die, you were going to die fighting.

The marines in front of you inched foward, eyes full of what you could call determination now that their leader had spoken. Some just looked plain terrified, though. Or maybe it was your own fear making your vision hazy, too. A few mocked and taunted you, but their words never reached your ringing ears. Staying still for a bit, you gazed at them, lost in thought for a few moments. 

You could surrender and be thrown in a cell for the rest of your life to rot, or you could fight ‘til one of them plunged a sword into your stomach and you joined your crewmates.

For some reason, the thought of dying made your heart jump into your throat, even though before starting all of your adventures you had accepted the fact that yes, you could indeed die. Inhaling shakily, you scanned your surroundings, finding one of your flintlocks and a crate of gunpowder not that far from where you were standing. Glancing at the men again, you tightened your grip on your side.

It was now or never.

Running to the side, you pushed past some of the marines, ducking when you heard the sound of a gunshot and sliding to the firearm on the floor. The new-found energy steadied your arm as you aimed, closing one of your eyes before firing at one of the crates on the ground, closest to one of your friends. You sighed before quickly standing again at the sound of an explosion, the explosion making the ship oscillate to and fro unsteadily. Jogging to the side of the ship, you noticed debris and a few pieces of wood floating about in the water.

You could sink this ship and run. You’d feel awful and would probably never forgive yourself, but you’d be alive, and you’d be able to send every marine to their death with a couple more explosions. Perhaps send a postcard to their admirals with a big ' _fuck you_ ' written on the bottom in cursive.

It was a decent plan... wasn't it?

Quickly reloading your gun with trembling fingers, you pointed it at another crate, shooting it and making it explode as well. When you shot a third crate, the ship was shaking so much that standing was proving to be a difficult task, so you did something that you just knew you were going to regret for the rest of your life.

You jumped into the water.

Your feet were the first to come in contact with the sea, and you immediately felt a cold chill slither up your spine as you fully submerged. You quickly swam towards a plank furthest away from your ship, only breaking the surface of the water when you weren't swimming past the corpses of several marines and... You looked away, not knowing if your eyes were burning from the saltwater or from something else. Sucking in a deep breath through your mouth, you fought for purchase on the slippery surface of the wood, your breathing quickening when you heard the screams of agony of the marines as they jumped into the water as well, drowning or dying from the blaze or from other injuries.

It was chaos.

You didn’t dare look back at the wreckage, knowing that if you did you’d probably break down. Heaving in a breath, you finally pulled yourself onto the plank, releasing a pained grunt when you relaxed. That feeling was short-lived, though, as you realized that you were still in danger. Groaning in pain, you grabbed a piece of wood and began rowing away, muscles screaming in protest and telling you to _stop, stop, stop_. Your makeshift oar wasn’t exactly doing much to get you away, but anything was good enough for now.

You continued to row until there was a heavy silence in the air and there was nothing else around you but water. Exhaustion pulled at your eyelids and sapped your limbs of their energy, but still, you continued to row. Looking around, you quickly shook your head, successfully snapping out of your panicked thoughts of _‘What do I do?’_ and _‘Where do I go? What am I doing?’ **What have I done?**_

There was an apparent tremor in your hands as you gripped your oar, your eyes wide in fear. What _were_ you going to do now? Everyone you had befriended was now dead or left behind to die by their captain who decided her life was more important than theirs. Or maybe they were to be captured by whatever marine had survived, sentenced to death or thrown in a prison. Maybe they’d give away your location if they got the chance. 

You growled, tears blurring your vision again as you cursed yourself and the marines and everything in this stupid world. You were so selfish. Even now, you were worrying more about yourself than anyone else.

You pushed yourself to your knees, the wood digging into the skin that wasn't covered by your pants, your grip on the oar tightening. You were so, _so_ selfish.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” You sniffed, using your free hand to wipe away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “What the _actual hell_ is wrong with me? How could I do that to them? What kind of captain am I?”

This continued on for a good few minutes, before you finally broke down, holding your head in your hands, “Why did this have to happen to me?!” You cried, your voice cracking and more tears falling, “I was so- _How_ did they find us? I- They didn’t deserve that! They- t-they...” You paused, shaking your head and shutting your eyes, overcome by grief and pain and everything you didn’t want or need to feel right now. You kept crying until your voice was hoarse from all the screaming and your cheeks burned from all the wiping you had done.

Eventually, you calmed down, your thoughts becoming clearer as you swallowed thickly, coughing. You couldn’t just go back to being the captain you used to be after what had happened to you and your crew. Your mind began searching for a plan, and, for some reason or another, you eventually came to the conclusion of cutting your hair to a shorter style and living life as a man.

You snorted, but there was no humour in it. Right now, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea, but could you really pass by as a man without being suspicious? You searched your pockets, a little angry at the fact that you were wearing such heavy clothing in such hot weather. The water also weighed you down, making you move sluggishly and excruciatingly slow. Your hands searched until your left one stumbled upon the one hidden dagger you had not used. You tugged the blade free, flipping it absentmindedly in your hand once or twice. You could start over, and then, when the moment was right, you’d strike and make the marines pay.

You nodded slowly, agreeing with your own plan. It could work. You’d _make_ it work.

Sighing, you slowly brought the blade to the back of your neck, gripping your (hair length) hair, making sure to have a decent sized chunk before cutting it. You felt it fall onto your back, and your heart skipped a beat. Before you could start having second thoughts, though, you cut another piece, gradually going around your entire head until it was nothing more than a pixie haircut. You wiped all the fallen hair off your shoulders, before putting the blade away and lying down under the unforgiving sun, eyes wide open and heart racing as you gazed up at the cloudless sky. The exhaustion became too much to handle after a few minutes of sitting there, so you decided to sleep, eyes slipping shut.

You didn’t dream of anything good that time.


	2. Among the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue going through ups and downs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was also a bit of a challenge to write since I didn't know how much I wanted in it. I originally wanted this to be four chapters, but with how much I've been writing (woohoo) I think it's going to have to be longer than that because I don't want to rush anything. Although if I am going too slow, please feel free to tell me.
> 
> But aaanyhow, you're finally saved! Yay! Also, just before you begin reading: 
> 
> This chapter contains swears (no surprise there) AND an attempt at suicide!!! kind of.... A.K.A you want to jump into the ocean an.. yeah. It's better for me to spoil that tiny little bit now than have anyone feel bad or something. Because I'd feel really bad myself.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if there's a lot of repetition? I try my best to avoid that, but seeing as I am still learning English I couldn't really help it at times, so I'm sorry if that bothers you. Thank you for reading!

The gentle sounds and swaying of the waves was almost like a lullaby to your ears. You laid on top of the plank drifting to who knows where in a starfish position, dehydrated from all the crying you had done before.

When you had fallen asleep, you hadn’t dreamed of a whole lot, being stuck in that state where you couldn’t see anything other than that dark abyss before waking up and feeling like you didn’t even get any sleep at all.

You felt hot and sticky from the sweat and the dried blood, thanks to the scorching sun rays coming down and hitting your clothed body. The hair at the nape of your neck clung to the skin uncomfortably, and you rubbed a hand over it, before placing your hand in the water and letting it sit there. Looking around slowly in fear of opening your wounds any further, you saw nothing but blue. You gazed upwards again, seeing more blue, though this time with patches of white scattered all over it.

You were really starting to hate the colour.

Exhaling through cracked, dry lips, you closed your eyes again, still thinking back to… when had everything happened? Had it been a few hours ago? You didn’t really remember, nor did you want to. Thinking about it had made you lose your makeshift oar. Huffing, you continued listening to the water moving around you.

Three times you had tried going back to the wreckage, crying and shaking and hating yourself the entire time. You had never made it very far, the lack of energy in your body making any attempts to backtrack futile. When you’d collapse from the exhaustion, you’d cry some more, your face digging into the wood painfully. When you tried attempting it the fourth time, the more rational part of your brain told you to throw aside the piece of wood you had used to row away, because even if you did manage to backtrack, you weren't making it out of this mess. And so you did. The throw had been powered by all the pain and grief you felt in your heart, a howl of agony pushing past your trembling lips.

Now, you sat, drifting with the waves and trying to not think of how thirsty you were. Soon, you were going to start feeling hungry, and that was going to make this a lot more difficult than it already was.

Slowly, you glanced down at your body, seeing your clothes covered in red and brown. The heavy jacket you had worn was torn at the sleeves, and it was very likely that it was also so torn at the back along with whatever you had underneath that it was beyond saving.

Your face was also caked with whatever debris and dust had gotten stuck to it, your sweat and blood making the perfect place for everything to collect there.

You didn’t realize your eyes were brimming with tears again until they rolled down the slightly irritated skin of your cheeks. Wincing, you wiped the hand that had been in the water on your pants before wiping the tears away carefully, realizing that it was still shaking slightly. Sighing quietly, you let it fall into the ocean again, hearing the quiet splash beside you.

You were so, so tired.

And you were also growing tired of being tired.

You coughed, the blood that had pooled in your mouth trickling down your chin, and moaned at the pain it sent through your chest area. The pain lingered for a few seconds, before it disappeared and you were back to an almost peaceful state if it weren’t for all the thoughts going rampant in your head. Your heart was starting race again, too. Your eyes fell shut again, and you inhaled deeply, getting that smell of salt you had loved not even that long ago. Now you were just sick of it.

Luckily, there were no birds making noise this time, since being in the middle of the ocean wasn’t exactly the best place. Especially in the Grand Line. God knows how long this peace was going to last before you were hit with a storm or something worse.

You were content with your eyes shut, so you let them stay closed and listened. There was nothing new around you, since the ocean was calm and it sounded undisturbed. The sounds helped you make a soothing breathing pattern, your heart slowing down to its normal pace eventually. You continued your new breathing pattern, even when your heart was normal.

Suddenly, you felt bubbling besides you and the waves were moving as if you were about to enter a storm. Your eyes snapped open as and scanned the area as best they could. They stopped on the place where your hand was, seeing that, indeed, there was bubbles rising besides you.

You froze in fear, unsure of what to do as you laid there, watching the bubbles come to a stop. You let your posture relax, before taking a deep breath to calm yourself. And you had been so calm, after hours of crying and feeling like you weren’t worthy of living.

Actually, you still felt like that.

It was silent for a while longer, and in the meantime, you found the strength to speak. “What the hell was that?” You mumbled, glowering at the place as the bubbles stopped.

And then suddenly, you weren’t glaring anymore when something huge broke the surface of the water and poked its head out. The shock made you jump, and you grunted in discomfort. The bear-like creature glanced around, before its beady eyes were peering down at you. It loomed over you, the sun behind it giving it an odd glow as it lowered its head, staring at you with large eyes before leaning back.

“…” You watched it closely, awed and also terrified at the fact that there _was a Sea King in front of you._ There was a large white and grey fin on its back, and you could only assume it had many more. Its white fur stuck out in odd ways, with the rest being weighed down by the water clinging to it.

Your heart was racing again, but it wasn’t because of the being staring down at you with its head tilted to the side in curiosity, it was because of the thoughts that had wormed their way into your brain. That heavy sadness you hadn’t felt in a while came back full force, and you sniffed quietly, swallowing thickly.

You were so lonely and so sad. You didn’t want to be on this pathetic piece of wood anymore. You wanted this nightmare to end and to wake up in cold sweat and with wide eyes because that would surely feel better than being trapped in the middle of the ocean with nothing to keep you company.

All the things that were going through your head just made you want to bawl your eyes out. They made you wish you were dead, just like you should be.

Maybe if you angered the bear-fish thing in front of you it would trap you in its jaws and drag you under the water, drowning you in the process. But how could you do that?

You tried to lift your arms, but they weren’t responding. Frustrated, you tried your legs, but they weren’t answering you either. While you battled with your body, the Sea King began to sink back into the depths of the ocean.

Seeing it leaving you made your heart clench painfully as you slid closer to the edge of the plank, (eye colour) eyes still wide as you watched it descend until it was gone.

“N-no…” You rasped, “Don’t leave- Don’t leave me here…” You attempted screaming, but nothing left your throat.

“Oh, please, please come back. Please.” You whispered desperately, “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I’m all alone and I don’t want to be here anymore and-” A sob cut your rambling short, and you cursed yourself for crying again, but you couldn’t stop. You were in too much pain right now.

“Please, please come back!” You managed to yell, your throat burning at the effort you had to put into it.

Silence was your answer.

“No…” You hiccupped, shutting your eyes tightly, “No, no, no… Why… why did this happen to me?”

Your cries echoed, as if mocking you and your misery, and that made you feel even worse. Everything was getting to the point where you were thinking of jumping into the water so you could end this nightmare. Maybe that's what you should do.

Sitting up slowly and painfully, you placed your hands on the plank to steady yourself, before leaning over the edge. The action took so much out of you, you were breathing hard as you gazed into the seemingly endeless blue void. You swallowed again, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes.

“One…” You coughed, ignoring the gnawing pain that seemed to flow through your limbs, “Two…” You gripped the edge of the plank, finding some relief as your fingertips brushed the surface of the rather welcoming water.

“Three…”

... .. .

“Fuck, shit, why can’t I do it?” You growled, tugging at your hair and shaking your head. There was pain in your scalp as you continued to tug at the short strands, frustrated and ashamed at how pathetic you were. “Why, why, why- _Why the hell can’t you do it_!”

The anger in your voice turned into sadness again as you stopped speaking, a grimace twisting your features as you breathed heavily, the pain it caused in your chest area close to unbearable. Not thinking clearly, you punched the water in vexation. The action calmed you slightly, and you sat back, crossing your legs at the ankles.

This was getting ridiculous.

You leaned back until your back hit the familiar wood beneath you, and you closed your eyes, determined to get more rest so you didn’t have to think anymore.

(x)

When you came to again, you were staring up at the darkening sky. The sun was close to disappearing, painting both the sky and the ocean in a mix between a deep amber colour and other less prominent shades of red. You could just barely make out the darkness of the night. Clouds of the same shade rolled by slowly, some blocking the magnificent rays that sent warmth coursing through your body and others looking like they'd been drawn to the sky. You sat up at a snail's pace, happy that you weren’t feeling as much pain as you had been before. Touching your face, you sighed in relief. The irritation was pretty much gone after resting for what you could tell was a very long time. There was the hint of sunburn on your nose, though.

But aside from all that, the sight of stars was going to be nice change, and one you would greatly appreciate. At least then you would have something to look at while you mourned your dead comrades.

“Alright, stop, (name). That’s enough for now. You just woke up.” You scolded yourself, but it didn’t help the pain settling in your heart again. You sighed, exasperated, and pushed some stray strands of your short hair back. You placed a hand on your stomach, hearing the familiar rumbling that screamed _hunger._ Gripping your clothing, you blew air through your mouth to distract yourself.

How long had you been here? It felt like you’d been here for so long.

“Two… wait, no… three days?” You rasped, your throat dry and your lips cracked. You chose not to talk a lot, not wanting to make them bleed, but… Three days. You’d been on this godforsaken piece of wood for three days. And you were probably going to be here for longer.

At the sight of stars, you halted your inner complaints, the twinkling spots curling your lips into a small, yet still woeful, smile. They sparkled and shone so bright, you just couldn’t help it.

You’d usually stay up late stargazing when you were back on your ship, the stars coming out and dotting the sky in white. Back then, things had been much more simpler and undemanding from you. You didn't have that big of a crew back then, so there were times when you could sit alone for a while recollecting your thoughts and making plans for the future. You looked down at your hands at the memory.

“Are… are you guys up there?” You asked quietly, your eyes snapping upwards again. You got no answer, but it didn’t stop you from you voicing your thoughts.

"I’m really sorry, you know. I know you guys are probably… really mad at me for leaving you like that but,” You paused, laughing dryly before inhaling in an attempt to stop the shaking in your voice, “But I’m going to… I’m going to…” You sighed.

“I-I don’t know what I’m going to do, but, ah, I promise I’ll figure it out. I’ll get those marines back for what they did.”

There wasn’t an answer still- why would there be?- but you felt at ease. You had finally gotten those words off your chest, and now you had made a promise, so you had to keep living. You nodded, biting your lip as your eyes stared at the sky, not really focusing on anything.

You had to stay alive.

You had to live. You honestly didn't really know how you were going to get out of this predicament, but you had to at least try.

Deciding to sleep again, you laid back and relaxed, stretching so your limbs got some relief as you closed your eyes.

(x)

When you awoke, the sun was just starting to rise. Sadly, you were unable to sit up because, even though you had gotten plenty of rest, you had no energy. The lack of food was starting to take a toll on your body, not to mention the lack of water. You would’ve drunk from the endless supply of water around you if it weren’t for the amount of salt in it.

Sighing, you let your limbs fall limp after another attempt at getting up. Of course, it was unsuccessful. Doesn’t mean you couldn’t try.

And so that’s how you spent another 10 minutes. And after those ten minutes, you gave up completely.

_Just like you had given up your crew and your ship-_

“Oh, just stop it.” You grumbled tiredly, shaking your head to free your mind from such depressing thoughts. You were so tired that keeping your eyes open was becoming a very strenuous task.

Not only because of your fatigue, but because despite the fact you were so sad, you were bored out of your mind. A childish thought, especially in a situation like this, but you couldn’t help it. You were alone, and the last conversation you had taken part of had been a desperate monologue since the Sea King couldn’t speak.

Your eyes scanned the area, taking in the sight of what looked like a small ship from your position. You ignored it, too tired to- _WAIT_.

“That’s- that’s a ship-” You said stupidly. “That’s- that’s…” You trailed off, whatever words you had been about to say dying at the tip of your tongue. You heaved in a breath, your chest hurting again. Was it heading this way? You couldn’t tell; your vision was too blurred. Why was it blurred? Why were you so tired? Why now? You _had_ to move if you wanted them to see you!

Sadly, that was easier said than done. When you attempted to move, the large gash on your side reopened, and your mouth fell open in a silent cry of agony.

“Fuu-” You gasped, the excruciating pain you were feeling spreading all throughout your body.

You just _had_ to be on the verge of passing out, didn’t you?

Your body trembled violently as tears rolled down your cheeks again.

It was no use. There was no point in trying, anyway. The ship would probably pass you by and whoever was aboard would ignore you. Your heart raced at the thought of being on this raft any longer, but you just _couldn’t_ move anymore.

Fuelled by panic, you finally managed to raise one of your arms, attempting some sort of wave, before it fell besides you again. Your vision was so blurry you could barely make out the outline of the ship anymore. Where did it go?

“No, no, no! Not you, too!” You sobbed, the blood leaving your body forming a puddle besides you.

(x)

It had been… Fuck, you didn’t know, six days? Had it almost been a week? Had it really been that long?

…Fuck. You weren’t going to last much longer.

After the ship had completely ignored you, you broke down again and cried while your side kept bleeding. The pain flowing through you doubled when a sob shook your entire frame, which made you cry more.

All in all, you felt pathetic.

This was not how a pirate was supposed to act. They were meant to be ruthless, merciless, not weak little babies.

But you couldn’t help it. You had never been that kind of person. When you had had the chance, you had let whatever marine that survived the storm that was your crew go with a threat that never fell on deaf ears. You were compassionate when you needed to be, not like many other pirates, who would kill and be known for killing only.

You wanted to say you were a pirate, not a murderer.

You still had no strength in you, so movement, again, was a big no-no. So you laid there, unmoving, probably looking like a corpse and feeling like one.

Several small ships had passed you by, now. You knew some of them saw you, and you tried to get their attention, but their captains would bark an order to their troubled sailors and they would be gone as quickly as they came.

And just like the Sea King moment you had, it made you feel awful. Were people really this cruel out here? It made you remember all the decisions you’ve made in your rather short lifetime and questioning if you had made the right choice. Had you made the right choice in leaving home? Had you made the right choice in becoming a pirate?

It sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

And now you were going to pay for your wrong-doings with your life.

It all seemed rather appropriate, and you were more than ready to accept the fact that you were not going to survive. The sound of seagulls overhead was a sound you welcomed, having grown sick of the waves. You didn’t know why there were seagulls here, but you weren’t about to question it.

The second you get off this thing you were going to go home. Screw the life of piracy and alcoholic drinks, you were going to go home and stick to whatever job you came across.

Of course, you couldn’t do that. You’d be recognized, chased, killed, and you’ll die without avenging your crew.

But you were just so sick of everything. Your mind was such a mess, you were seeing things. Right now, you were seeing a whale- _a whale_ with the weirdest look on its face you had ever seen- heading towards you. And were those flags on top of it- actually, were those _masts_?

Holy shit.

That’s a ship.

Well, another one anyways, and you weren’t as overjoyed as you were the first time a ship came around, so you ignored it, just like they had all ignored you. You still couldn’t help that sliver of hope building up in your heart, though, and you sighed shakily, took weak to really curse anything.

You waited it for it to pass you and fail to acknowledge your existence.

You sniffed; your eyes squeezed shut as you fell into a strange sleep-like state. You weren’t really asleep though, since you could still make out all the sounds around you. The swaying of the waves you had grown so used to was disturbed as the enormous whale-thing moved by you, and then you were hearing voices.

One particular loud, booming voice almost snapped you out of your weird state, but since you hadn’t made out whatever they had said, you stayed the way you were. You were so lost in your own world that you didn’t feel your raft being moved closer to the whale, and then suddenly you felt like you were floating.

_Is this what death feels like? Because it sure feels like-_

You were dropped onto the floor again.

“Shit! Be careful, you fool!” A voice hissed, before a hand was touching your face, “He’s still alive, Pops. What do we do?” A pause, “He’s pretty beat up.” The deep voice said.

You were sick of being awake and buried so deep within your own thoughts that you missed what the abnormally large captain said.

Wait, had the guy said _he?_ Could he not see that you were obviously a- oh right. You had cut your hair to give yourself a more masculine appearance… Had your ridiculous plan actually worked? Or was the guy just joking around? Well, coupled with the heavy clothing you wore, you supposed the mistake (or was it actually a mistake?) couldn’t be helped.

It wasn’t until you were heaved off of the ground did you realize with a shaking exhale you were saved. You grunted in pain when the person lifting you up brushed their hand over your side. You knew you were going to freak out when you woke up, but right now you couldn’t care less.

You were finally saved, and that’s all that mattered to you right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you see the inner conflict? 'Cause I sure can.
> 
> Poor you.
> 
> Also has anyone been in that weird asleep but at the same time not asleep state? Cause I think I have haha. But anyways, see you next chapter!


	3. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know who you are, (name).”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, it is currently close to 3AM over here and I am suffering from back pains, so I do apologize for any mistakes. 
> 
> Anyways, I wanted to say that characters may be ooc which I do apologize for. I’m still trying to get the hang of writing characters that aren’t my own, but! If you do notice anything that makes you go: ‘‘That’s not right!!” Feel free to tell me because I reaaally want to improve.
> 
> I really hope I didn't butcher anyone's personalities because cHRIst are they all different from one another (which is good! more of a challenge for me xD)
> 
> Edit: I made some changes to this chapter, so if you feel like something's different, that's probably it.

When you re-entered the world of the living, you felt the opposite of alive. In fact, you felt like you had just come back from the worst tea party with Death. To add to that, you were sore all over, the familiar and unwelcomed sensations that flowed through your body making you groan. Your face was scrunched up in pain and annoyance, and you tried shifting in an attempt to reduce the pain. You continued changing sides, a grimace twisting your features, until you finally gave up and opened your eyes. There was no point in trying to fall back asleep, even if it was the only thing that made you forget the pain.

You blinked, trying to force your vision to focus. When it returned to its normal state, you quickly scanned the area, realizing that you were in a very dark room. Barrels and crates of varying sizes were scattered around the place, and there were also some circular windows that did little to give light.

Sitting up slowly as to not aggravate your injuries, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands, blinking several times afterwards. After your eyes adapted to the lack of light, you looked around again, finding it much easier to see, before pausing.

You were on Whitebeard’s ship.

The realization hit you like a splash of ice-cold water, and you paled.

You were on a ship with people that had bounties ten times bigger than your own. Not only that, they were all probably a million times stronger. You knew some had devil fruits to aid them when it came to battles, but you didn’t.

So of course, you were scared.

You couldn’t just stay here, since they would eventually come to check on you, unless they already had. Quickly sparing your body a glance, you noted that no, nobody had bothered to look at your wounds just yet. You didn’t know whether to feel grateful, or to be pissed off at them for caring so little. You supposed it was for the best, since now you had to act like the opposite gender.

“…This is bad.” You mumbled quietly, taking another look at the room, “This is _really_ bad.” You let out a breathy laugh, disbelief written all over your face. If it wasn’t for the aches in your body, you would’ve believed this was just some nightmare. But of course, you didn’t have such luck.

You quickly rubbed soothing circles into your temples, taking deep breaths and trying to stay calm. Seeing that the massage to your temples wasn’t working, you gripped your chest, your heart pounding in your ribcage. You needed air.

You threw the sheets off you, abandoning all rational thoughts, before quickly rushing to the door and throwing it open. Shielding your eyes from the sun with one of your arms, you stumbled forward until you were gripping the railing of the ship. Your nails dug into the wood painfully as you watched the waves beneath you with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, just staring, but it was quite a long time since your legs began to throb. Realizing you were out in the open where anyone could see you, you slowly turned around, your hand lingering on the railing. When you looked up from the floor, though, you almost jumped out of your skin. You quickly drew back, your back colliding with the railing behind you, staring wide eyed at the man leaning against the wall casually.

He stared at you with heavy lidded eyes, eyebrow slightly raised at your reaction. He wore a bright purple jacket that did nothing to hide his lean frame, with a light blue sash wrapped around his waist that had a belt over it. The one thing that caught your attention though was the symbol that was proudly tattooed across his chest. Your observation was cut short when his deep voice met your ears.

“You're awake.” He stated, looking down at the floor.

There was something about his calm demeanor that was honestly unnerving, and you unconsciously took another step away from him, just to be safe. It looked like he wasn’t going to say anything else, so you opened your mouth to speak. But, before you could make a single noise, you realized that if you spoke, your real gender would be exposed. So you did the next best thing, you nodded slowly, still wary of the man.

He looked up at your lack of a response, his eyebrow raised even higher, “What? Can’t talk?”

Before you could make any other gestures though, someone else showed up.

“Hey! You’re awake!” Another man approached you both, his voice breaking and saving you from a rather awkward and tense silence. You gave him a look, reaching behind you before remembering that you did not have any of your guns. Letting out a frustrated sigh through your nose, you let your hand return to your side, empty and itching for a weapon.

…So much for trying to protect yourself. They looked harmless enough, though.

The man continued talking, looking delighted to be speaking and also too calm for your liking, “I’m Thatch,” He introduced himself with a bright grin, before adding, “Commander of the Fourth Division.”

…Whatever that meant.

You continued to stare at… Thatch, sparing the other guy a couple glances. Apparently, Thatch saw you do that, because he too looked at the blond. Before he could say anything else though, you cleared your throat.

“I’m… I’m just… gonna go…” You mumbled, hoping your voice didn’t sound too feminine, and took another step back.

Thatch raised an eyebrow at your words, before looking you up and down.

“Those wounds don’t look like they’re going to heal any time soon.. You sure you want to be walking around like that?” He asked you, and you froze. He was right. And, not only that, if you ended up having to fight someone on this ship, you were going to be in big trouble.

You bit your lip, before swallowing and taking a deep breath, “…I suppose not.”

He nodded, humming, “Well, since you’re part of our crew now, we can get someone to look at-”

“…Actually, I think I’ll be fine.” You interrupted quickly, your words rushed. Thatch stopped, his grin gone and his eyebrow raised again. The blond was still scrutinizing you, his expression almost bored.

And wait, did he say you were part of his crew? Since when did you join _them_?

“…guess we’ll just have someone give you the supplies, then. You know how to treat wounds?” He said, grin returning to his face. You nodded, even though you knew for a fact that you were lying, before slowly shuffling to the room you exited. Luckily, they both left you be, one looking happier than the other, which you were so grateful for.

As you re-entered your room, you leaned against the door, forcing it to close behind you as you stared ahead at the wall.

 ...

You did not feel okay about all this.

First of all, you meet a blond who looks like he’s done with everything. Then you have a man with a pompadour greeting you like you’re a long lost cousin or something and offering to have someone look at your injuries. Did they not realize you could attack them at any given time? Where were your chains? Why were they so calm about all this?

You made a quick mental note to avoid them at all costs as you sat back down and waited for those supplies.

(x)

Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and you stood from the bed carefully to open it. Outside stood Thatch again, with a box that you assumed had what you needed in his hands.

“Here you go. Are you sure you don’t want anyone to-”

“I’ll be fine.” You murmured, taking the box from him before quickly stepping back. You saw him shrug before you shut the door again, breathing another sigh. Retracing your steps to the bed, you set the box down on the mattress before sitting down yourself. You tapped your fingers on your thigh while staring at the floor, not really focusing on anything, then proceeded to open the container and emptying it of its contents. Eyes skimming over the contents, you examine each item and list them off in your head.

There were several rolls of bandages, a bottle of.. something, and several other things (you were really good at this so far) like clips and what looked like a needle and a roll of thread. You sincerely hoped you weren't going to be forced to use that, but it all depended on your injuries, didn't it?

You stood again, faster than any other times before since you weren’t keen on having someone walk in on you while you were undressed. It brought a dull ache to your side, but you paid it no heed. Peeling off your heavy jacket, you stared at the damage done to your arms, and cringed. It was only going to get worse once you got to work, you thought anxiously as unease clutched at your nerves.

There were bruises on your upper arms from where you had blocked a wave of attacks from a small group of marines, unable to carry out that task with your swords. Several cuts and nicks littered the skin as well, though they were not too deep. You had dodged plenty in your last battle, but there was always that one marine that got those lucky hits on you.

Pulling the sleeves of your undershirt further back, you revealed your shoulders. They too were covered in nasty bruises from having used your shoulders to ram men, pushing them off your ship and into the ocean. There was one particularly purple bruise on your left shoulder that made you wince and berate yourself in your mind for such recklessness.

Deciding to begin from there, you grabbed one of the bottles. You supposed you could use this to clean the cuts. Pulling the cap off, you placed it on the bed carefully, before rummaging through the contents strewn about on the bed. You found a decent sized rag, and, picking up the small bottle, you poured some of its contents on the cloth.

You dabbed at the cuts, instantly coming to realize that this was _alcohol_ and wincing when you applied a little too much pressure. It felt like your skin was sizzling right then and there, the scalding sensation forcing you to deliberately roll your lips together so you wouldn't cry out in agony. It was almost as if your skin was fucking melting.

“Ugh… why me…” You grumbled, practically hissing after one last swab. Placing the rag on the bed and grabbing one of the rolls of bandages, you began to wrap the cuts and bruises that looked the worst. Bandaging your entire arm would restrict all movement, which is definitely not what you want or need in a situation such as this one seeing as you're on completely unfamiliar territory.

After your arms were all bandaged up, you moved on to your legs. You rolled up your pant legs, studying them closely. Thankfully, they were less damaged, but still bruised a whole lot. They looked like they were healing well enough; it was just the soreness that made it difficult to walk very far.

It was best to leave your legs be. There was nothing on them that really required attention, other than a few nicks here and there, but otherwise you were good to go.

You toyed with the hem of your shirt, debating whether you should really take a peek at that wound on your side. Sure, you didn’t want it to get infected (you didn’t know how it wasn’t already), but you certainly didn’t want to faint because of the blood and because of how bad it probably was.

Exhaling through your nose, you peeled the undershirt off you, sighing when you placed it on the bed. Biting your lip, you slowly glanced down.

It was as _fucking_ bad as it looked.

“Why did that stupid marine have to go for my side…?” You complained quietly, grabbing the alcohol bottle and pouring a generous amount on the somewhat bloodied rag.

The gaping wound on your side stared back up at you, the dried blood surrounding it making you cringe. You crossed your fingers, praying that there was nothing vital damaged. You brought down the rag on the injury, covering the whole area,  You knew you weren’t applying enough pressure for the liquid to really clean anything, but you were pretty damn scared (and pained).

Breathing in shakily, you applied more pressure, “Ah, f*ck,” You hissed, eyes shut tight from the pain that began to reappear. Swallowing thickly, you kept going until you were able to see it more clearly. It was deeper around the back, since the marine that had hit you hadn't had the guts to face you properly, substantially damaging you so much that stretching (and doing anything at all, really) was going to become tedious. Although it did look a tad bit better than it had before.

“Damn it all...” You hissed again, letting out a string of very colourful words. Your heart was still racing, although less, and every beat of your pulse was like a hammer banging on the gash. When you finished wrapping your side with another roll of bandages, you gingerly placed everything back in the box, before dropping the container on the floor.

You carefully looked it over, nodding when you were sure everything was in it, before putting your clothes back on. It was a slow process, and you had to stand to get your pants back on, which only annoyed you further. Just as you were about to pull your undershirt over your head, there was rapping on the door.

The sound made you jump, prompting you to almost fall backwards. Steadying yourself, you quickly finished dressing, making sure you threw the heavy coat on again, before walking over to the door. There was an itch at your side from the fabric wrapped around your waist, and you had to resist the urge to scratch it.

Opening the door, you peeked around it, seeing no one outside. Looking down, you saw a bowl of some kind of broth, still steaming, with a spoon sticking out of it. You stared at it, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Someone had brought the supplies you needed to treat your injuries, and now they had given you food, but you weren't part of their crew. Glancing around, you hummed thoughtfully, hand resting on your hip.

“Oh, to hell with everything,” You said as you took the bowl into your hands carefully, not wanting to spill its contents, before stepping inside the dark room again, “I haven’t eaten in… I don’t know how long.”

You plopped down on the bed, taking hold of the spoon and stuffing some of the broth in your mouth. You hadn't realized how empty your stomach had been until now, and with food entering your system, you could feel your energy returning. Sighing through your nose, you closed your eyes as your shoulders slumped in relief. You also hadn't noticed how cold it had gotten inside the small space, and so you really appreciated the warmth your meal sent through your body. It was a _miracle_ you were still alive after not eating for so long.

You finished your food rather quickly, successfully filling your stomach, before you set the bowl on the floor. Satisfied and full, you laid back on the bed, hands on your stomach. Forgetting the covers, you let your eyes fall shut, sleep finding you almost immediately.

(x) 

You awoke to the sound of seagulls outside, and for a moment you thought you were back on your ship. The veritable squall outside and voices you didn’t recognise told you otherwise. Eyes cracking open, you pushed the soft covers off of you as you sat up groggily, eyes half lidded as you turned to the door. You were a lot less sore, which allowed you to move faster.

You were grateful for that.

Carefully getting to your feet, you headed to the door, stumbling just as you were going to reach for the doorknob.

“Stupid legs,” You muttered, giving said limbs a glare before finally stepping outdoors. The same shining sun greeted you, forcing you to cover your eyes again. You surveyed the area, seeing Thatch heading your way at a quick pace. You quickly took on a more defensive stance, eyes studying him to see what he would do. When he stopped in front of you with a bright smile, you grew suspicious.

“Oh good, you’re up! Pops wanted to meet you!” He said jovially, and you almost dropped dead then and there. You blinked in surprise, taken aback.

“…what?” You gave him a look, a crease in your brow.

“Bah, c’mon, you heard me!” He waved a hand, before turning around and looking at you over his shoulder, “Let's go!” He motioned for you to follow him, and you almost ran the other way, feeling that same fear from a couple days ago settle in your heart and make your legs shake.

Seeing you that you weren’t following him, Thatch turned and raised an eyebrow as if to question your capability of understanding a simple phrase. Quickly, you rushed after him, biting your lip as he turned back around and kept going as if nothing happened. As if nothing was _wrong._ Honestly, you didn’t know what was carrying you onwards.

_Shit, shit, shit-_

You walked behind him silently, still fancying the idea of turning tail and fleeing the scene as you passed groups of men of varying sizes. They greeted and nodded their heads towards the commander in front of you, smiling and waving and _completely ignoring the marching stranger_ that was currently ambling behind him looking like she had taken a huge bite out of a lemon. Thatch, ever so likeable and friendly, returned the friendly gesture with his booming voice, announcing to anyone nearby who was near. Soon, you stood in front of two big white doors with designs in a yellow colour. The man in front of you knocked happily, and you didn’t know how it happened, but now you stood in front of an abnormally large human who also had several tubes attached to his being. You remained silent, your body tense and ready to go on flight mode.

Seeing your discomfort, the old man laughed, shaking his head slowly at your obvious uneasiness. His actions had you reaching behind you, only to curse in your head because _goddamn it you didn’t have your weapons._ Fumbling with the hemline, you heaved out a resigned sigh, palms flattening against your sides before falling at your sides like dead weights.

“That’s quite the look you’ve decided to go with.” The old man commented, crossing his arms over his chest with a strange, knowing gleam in his golden eyes. You craned your neck to look up at him, suspicious and ready for anything. Well, almost. You certainly weren't ready to face the strongest man in the world. He chortled again, grabbing a poster before holding it out for you to see. What you saw did little to bring you peace.

The image that stared back at you was, well, you before your impromptu haircut and with the outfit you had started out with which consisted of light, loose pants tucked inside the same pair of leather boots you wore now, a navy blue tank top that accentuated your frame, with a sash hugging your middle. It had been like going through a hormone-driven, regrettable phase, and it hadn't been that long ago, either. Just over four months. You're glad for the change of clothing on your person. 

After studying the image, you turned to him.

“…I don’t know who you’re talking about.” You murmured, knowing that you had to be extra careful with your voice around this man. He was smart, you'd give him that. 

He chuckled, a small smile on his face as he put the paper aside and out of the way, eyes snapping back to yours not even a second after.

 _“I know who you are, (name)._ ” He sighed, grabbing a drink from the same table and taking a swig from the bottle, sighing in satisfaction afterwards. For some odd reason, the words made your blood run cold, your body going rigid at the mere mention of your name as you stared up at him with a pounding heart. Now that you didn't have that damn paper separating the both of you, you suddenly felt much more intimidated than when you'd first entered this room.

You shook that feeling off, trying to show confidence but not being able to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“So, you know my name. What about it.” You demanded, waving your hands in a dismissive manner and willing your legs to stop trembling. This man, you knew, could end your life with his pinky if he wanted to.

He observed you for a moment, beverage still in hand, before he asked, “How old are you?” The question had you blinking in confusion, eyebrows pinching together. Why would he need to know that?

“Why do you want to know?” You asked, a bit hesitant, as you crossed your arms. Your question was met with silence as the enormous man peered down at you under creased eyebrows. Giving in, you sighed, “Eighteen.” You toed at the floor. It wasn’t like you were embarrassed, this was just getting a bit… you didn’t know, weird? Why would he care about such a thing? It wasn't like it mattered out there anyways. The world was cruel, and some people had to grow up faster than others. Big deal.

He huffed, “They’re always in a hurry. Always, always…” He murmured, oddly serious.

“What do you mean-”

“Join us.”

You both fell silent, having interrupted each other, before you hissed, “ _What_?”

“Join us.” He reiterated, taking another swig from his drink, “Become my daughter.”

“…”

“Or my son. Your choice.” He shrugged slowly, looking rather amused. After a long, tense silence, you spoke up again.

“You know I can’t do that.” You stated firmly, your voice steady and the fear slowly leaving your body as you thought back to your comrades, “I have other things that need to be done.” 

His gaze shifted into something more pensive, “You want to avenge them, don’t you..?” He murmured, reading you easily. You dug your heel into the floor, feeling that ever persistent mix of sorrow and anger returning full force.

“…”

“You know you can’t, (name). You’re just one human-”

“Last I checked, you were human too,” You retorted, and that shut him up, he started again.

“You’re not strong enough to go after them-”

“I don’t care.” You kept your voice low, steady, mindful of the people that could be outside. Even then, your voice betrayed you and portrayed just how scared you really were, “They died, and I’m still alive. How is that fair? How is that fair to any of them? I’m- I _was_ their captain…” You trailed off, tears blurring your vision. You swiftly wiped them away with your sleeve, refusing to let them fall. You weren't going to cry again.

Truly, you didn’t know what you were going to do. You knew for a fact that without your crew, you weren't capable of fighting the marines like you used to. Sure, you were strong enough to take marines that were human like you, but if those devil fruit users showed up, you knew you’d be meeting your end so fast you wouldn't have had to time to think 'Oh shit'.

Meanwhile, Whitebeard watched you for a long while.

Not able to take the silence anymore, you sighed, spinning around to leave, “You can kill me, y’know. It’d be doing me a favor.” You finished with a simple shrug of your shoulders, leaving the room and Whitebeard behind.

Outside, you retraced your steps to the room you had claimed as your own, still mulling over what had just transpired. You glared hard at the floorboards as you walked, not noticing the large figure ahead of you. You, naturally, ended up crashing into them and stumbling forwards rather clumsily. You steadied yourself quickly, though, which was a relief, before you faced whoever you had bumped into. The man turned to you, opening his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away at a faster pace than before.

You did not need to deal with _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who it could be. 
> 
> hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoyed my noob writing. Also my dear phoenix Marco-polo boy won't be a serious in the coming chapters. I promise lol.


	4. Fire-Fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who was that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw yeah, here we go. Another chapter with some more fire-boy in it.
> 
> So, I'm still not sure about everyone's personailities, but I'm doing my research and I'm really hoping I can pull this off. Also does anyone just want Thatch as their best friend? He's just awesome, imo.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

If the old man ended up angry at your outburst and for leaving so suddenly, you didn’t know. You spent most of your time in your room, sitting on the bed with your arms and legs crossed, back straight, and furrowed brows as you eyed the wall in thought.

Sadly, it left a bothersome ache in your body when you decided to leave your statue-like state. Sometimes you’d pace, sometimes you’d lie in bed with your back to the door and trace patterns into the bed sheets with your fingers with your elbow acting as a pillow. And sometimes you’d sleep and wait for someone to tell you to beat it, because it wasn’t like you were exactly part of their little fun group.

This is exactly what you have been thinking about for two days now.

One part of your brain was saying yes, since you’d be safe with these people and you’d get the chance to heal. The other was saying no, your pride as a captain not allowing you to call yourself anything else but that. 

But maybe you weren’t even worthy of that title. Maybe you’d be better as a follower, fighting under someone else’s wing and raising a drink in their honour, and not yours.

You shifted, your head falling against the wall with a _thud_ as you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest. The position did not help with the uncomfortable and itchy feeling around your torso and back. You had bandaged your chest in hopes of flattening it out so you’d look more masculine.

Putting the bandages on had been… an interesting experience, to say the least. You spent a good 20 minutes with your eyes fixed on the material, having an internal war with yourself. In the end, you exhaled a sigh of resignation and began the long process, knowing that it was probably for the best. Then, you spent another twenty minutes trying to bind it properly so it wasn’t too galling.

You tugged the collar of your undershirt forwards, looking down at your work with slight displeasure, a frown tugging your lips downwards.

It was.. uncomfortable, to say the least. It was necessary, but it didn't make it any less bothersome. 

Still though, you supposed it was for the best. And who knew when you'd encounter marines again? Getting someone to recognize you was not on your list right now or even in the near future. You wanted things to be simple for a while so your troubled mind could set to work and come up with a plan. Maybe even find some peace along the way.

Letting your shirt fall back into place, you patted your chest gently.

Blinking slowly, you stared into the darkness of the room, glancing at the door once or twice. Being this room for long periods of time, you noticed, was starting to become the opposite of peaceful, since you’d usually succumb to thoughts that left you drained.

Inhaling deeply, your eyes snapped to the bed not to far from where you were. You didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, and you’d already checked over your injuries (you never returned that box) so there was no point in doing it again. Sighing, you let your eyes wander around the room again.

You knew it was a bad idea and that you shouldn’t be wandering around- hell, you probably shouldn’t even be out of bed, but you just didn’t feel like being in this room anymore. Besides, you could use the exercise.

With that in mind, you pushed yourself off the floor, standing and dusting yourself off. You placed your hands on your back, stretching with a quiet groan. You didn’t know who or what was going to be outside, but you didn’t really care either. You would gladly leave this place as long as you didn’t have to sit on your behind ‘til it became numb and you didn’t have to be in the dark anymore.

Once you opened the door and stepped outside, you scanned your surroundings, although it was a bit more difficult on the eyes since it was night time. There were some people nearby, talking and laughing loudly, but other than that you were on your own.

You had never seen anything past this part of the ship and your room, and you had always refused the idea of exploring. Now that it was night time, though, the idea seemed much more safe, and appealing. So long as you could enjoy the silence and no one made any moves to approach you, you’d be fine.

Fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you briefly glanced left and right, uncertain of which way to turn. Your face was scrunched up in thought, and with one last sigh and shrug, you headed left, sticking close to the wall. Your fingertips brushed the surface of the wall, still not fully trusting your body. You felt a lot better, which you were more than thankful for, but there was always that dull twinge in your side or shoulder that grew into something more hurtful if you moved around too much.

The light, quiet thumping of your boots on the floor was the only noise to be heard as you put more distance between you and whoever was making all that ruckus. You figured it was just some people enjoying the night, much like yourself, with each other, although you preferred to stay away from them for obvious reasons.

You somehow ended up on the large deck that you had only seen once (thanks to Thatch), the vast area only making the hairs on your neck stand. There was shockingly no one around, which you found very suspicious.

You could just turn back and go the other way, but seeing as there were people there, you didn’t want to risk being caught. Not that they’d be able to do anything without losing an arm, but sometimes relying on your fists wasn’t enough. Yeah. Totally because of that one reason.

Deciding to just keep going, you cautiously made your way around. There was nothing that really caught your eyes; it looked like a plain old ship - except this vessel was ten times bigger than any other you’ve seen. Staying close to the ship’s railing, your eyes followed the movements of the waves below.

The ocean was not the bright blue you tended to see when it was day time though. It looked scarier than ever when it was night time. From your position, it looked like it was just an endless hole, ready to swallow you up if you fell into it, never to be seen by anyone again. The thought of falling sent goose bumps running along your skin, and a shudder shook your frame.

A bit spooked at your ruminations, you nervously side-stepped and put some more room between you and the wooden railing, the only thing lingering on it being your fingers.

Eventually, after a bit more walking, you stopped and just watched the dark expanse of the ocean that surrounded you move along. You appreciated the gentle breeze that brushed your skin, the atmosphere so calm and so quiet you were afraid to make a single sound as you stood there, a feeling of tranquillity washing over you and freeing you from intrusive thoughts.

You let your eyes flutter shut, the smooth wood beneath your fingertips keeping you from stumbling backwards.

It felt like you stayed there for an eternity, but you didn’t mind that at all. It was nights like these that cooled your blood and settled your mind.

And all the while, you could feel a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of your head.

The feeling threw your mind back into reality, and you opened your eyes, your body tensing up in the process. Lips drawing into a thin line, you waited for the person to leave and for the strange feeling in your gut to fade.

You made it crystal clear that you did not want to socialize with your actions, which included isolating yourself from the rest of the world.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly spun around, eyes searching the area to see who the hell was staring at you. Your gentle hold on the wood turned into a tight grip that had your knuckles turning white and fingers digging into it painfully. Scanning the area as best you could through the darkness, you paled when you saw Thatch standing not too far away from where you stood.

He looked just as amiable as your last meeting with him, as grin curling his lips upwards as he approached you.

“Finally decided to go outside for a bit?” He asked, oddly quiet for his usual booming voice, an eyebrow raised as he leaned against the railing.

Meanwhile, your heart’s pace was beginning to pick up again, hands a little clammy. Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, avoiding his eyes by turning to the sea in front of you both.

If he noticed your uneasiness, he didn’t seem to care. Seeing that you weren’t going to do anything else, he too turned to the waves. It was awkward from your part, but he didn’t seem to mind. Heart pounding in your ears, you quickly snuck a glance at his face.

He looked relaxed, his eyes doing the same thing you were doing before he interrupted.

Sensing your eyes, he looked at you and spoke again, “So what’s your story?”

You paused at the question, blinking rapidly with furrowed eyebrows as you fully faced him. He chuckled at the look on your face, waving a hand.

“It’s alright if you don’t feel like telling me.” He said, shrugging, “I understand that most of us have had it tough.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, silently questioning him, but not having the guts to actually speak.

Before you could stop yourself, though, your mind drifted to the possibility of having a friend around here. You knew it’d be a while before you stopped at another island, whether it was for supplies or for business, so having at least one person to talk to wouldn’t hurt, right?

You groaned internally, before closing your eyes with a sigh. You didn’t know why, but you had the strange urge to just tell him what happened- leaving out the fact that you were indeed the supposedly dead captain, of course.

But then there’d be more questions, and you didn’t have the energy to deal with questions just yet.

Glancing at him again, you saw him looking back at the ocean again, that smile still on his face. And before you knew it, the words tumbled out of your mouth in a low baritone voice that you hoped was convincing enough.

“Marines. Marines happened.” You murmured bitterly, before your eyes went wide, surprised at having spoken. You shook your head, eyes rolling to the waves so he couldn’t see. Why, oh why did you have to talk?

Thatch’s eyes moved to you again, and he was silent for a while.

“I’m sorry,” His voice was smaller now, and you looked at him in shock. He sent a sad smile your way, before he stood up straight, “Who was your captain?”

 _‘Curious, isn’t he._ ’ You thought, not really in the mood to talk anymore. Eyeing him, you relented with a sigh. Nerves rattled, you played with the jacket weighing your shoulders down.

“(Y/n). She was known for her love for gunpowder.” You kept your sentences short and quiet, giving him a look once or twice to see if he noticed anything weird in your voice.

Groaning internally once more, you searched your mind for possible names that suited you, seeing as your real identity was now off limits. Finding nothing in that brain of yours as of now, you decided to put your new identity to the side. Whoever asked for a name was going to have to wait.

“Her? Really?” You raised an eyebrow at his words, eyes narrowing slightly before he continued, “Heard about her. Didn’t think she’d go down so quickly. A shame, really.” He said with a thoughtful wrinkle in his brows.

You wanted to roll your eyes and scream ‘I’m not dead, you idiot’, but you held your tongue.

Seeing that you weren’t going to say anything else, he spoke once more, “Well, that’s that. I should get going.” He smiled at you, before leaving you to your own thoughts with one last wave your way. You didn’t return it, but you nodded your farewells.

Meanwhile, not too far, a boy with freckles dusting his cheeks had listened to your every word without you knowing.

(x)

After the conversation you shared with Thatch, you headed back to your dorm to go sleep, thoughts running rampant in your head as you pulled the covers to your chin.

Now, it was morning and you were out in the open again, taking your usual pose of (no surprise here) looking into the ocean while leaning against the only thing keeping you from falling to your doom.

The crew was a rowdy mess of people going here and there, getting ready to sail or just speaking to each other. No one tried talking to you, which left you relieved as you listened to the water move about. The water caressed the side of the ship as it sailed, before ebbing away in a series of splashes and bubbles.

You remained in that area until you decided that it was time to leave, wandering around the ship once more. Men brushed past you, some ignoring you completely and some sparing you a curious glance as you walked past with your shoulders drawn back, your back straight, and your chin held high. It must be your captain days coming back to you. Although, they weren't exactly gone. Just... on hold... for now.

You purposely avoided faces you recognized, eyes cast downwards as you noticed them before briskly walking away. This went on for a good amount of time, and you stumbled across another quiet spot.

Declaring it as your own, you sat down on the floor, back towards a wall. You probably looked very odd, just sitting there, but it was better than isolating yourself in a stuffy and dark room.

Besides, you could care less about what anyone else thought.

The ship sailed the seas at a speed that you thought would be impossible for a vessel this big.

“Guess you can’t underestimate these people…” You mumbled thoughtfully, even though you never actually did. You knew other sailors would make the foolish mistake of doing said action, though, which would ultimately lead them to their doom. 

The noise around you never died down, which made thinking a tad difficult, but you supposed you couldn’t help it. It was always the same in your ship, and it was ten times smaller than this one. You couldn’t expect anything else as a pirate.

Especially with a person like Thatch around.

Speaking of the man with the odd hairstyle, you could already hear him calling ‘Ace!’ in a voice that would have had you jumping had you not been aware of his presence beforehand.

Curious about this new person, you listened to the two converse.  There was a lot of teasing from Thatch, with annoyed retorts from this ‘Ace’ person. There was also another name uttered.

“Doma…” You’d never heard of them. Bored, you dismissed their conversation as daily gossip, returning to the more important matters.

The conversation you and Thatch had left you a bit in shambles, if you were honest with yourself. For whatever reason, it made you want to join their crew even more, to bear a tattoo just like you’d seen a couple others do.

…

You were just confused, you told yourself, eyes fixed on the sky.

 

 

An hour passed and no one bothered you. It was clear that today was a busy day, since there wasn’t much talking, just orders being tossed around back and forth from multiple people.

You passed the time by thinking, and by distracting yourself with the sky and what not. There wasn’t much to do, seeing as you, again, weren’t part of their little club. You really wished for something to happen, though. Eyes still trained on the sky, your (eye colour) orbs bounced from cloud to cloud, naming whatever they looked like in your head. You hadn’t gotten a lot, but hey, if you were occupied, you wouldn’t complain.

That got boring really quickly, though, and soon you were left with nothing to do. Standing, you decided to continue exploring, since you didn’t get a lot done yesterday.

You walked in some random direction, hoping for the best.

(x)

After some time, you learned the ship’s outside (with some trouble, since people kept staring) perimeter, but you didn’t dare enter any other rooms except for the one you knew. Now, you stood idly, watching things happen in front of you. Of course, you weren’t in the middle of the chaos, since you honestly didn’t fancy the idea of being trampled over by some giant. People here were freakishly tall.

And now, it seemed like your wish had been fulfilled.

You knew the ship had a destination set. They weren’t going to some island, though. It seemed like Whitebeard had decided to go after someone for whatever reason- to teach them a lesson, perhaps?

Unsure of the old man’s true intentions, you went along with it, excited for some action from the most feared pirates out in the seas.

As you had predicted, these people were after some poor fool. The whale’s head was directly pointing to another ship, closing in on them fast. There was another mention of the so-called Ace, and an agreement from him.

Soon enough, the ships were side by side, and from your location, you could see a man with short, jet black hair. He wore a large, red beaded necklace that hung loosely. Unable to see his face, your eyes drifted to the tattoo on the expanse of his back, the purple ink greatly contrasting with his slightly tanned skin.

What made you turn into a stuttering mess, though, was seeing him jump so high in the air so quickly, you almost lost sight of him. Blinking rapidly, your mouth fell open as you watched him land gracefully on what you assumed was the enemy’s ship.

“What the hell?” You spoke breathlessly, eyes wide.

Whatever you had been planning on saying next died at the tip of your tongue as you watched flames engulf his fist, his being radiating so much confidence and power you actually leaned back, confusion slapping you in the face.

The captain of the other ship raised two swords, a monkey- _a monkey_ latched onto his back. You didn’t know what you expected when you heard the name Doma, but certainly not this.

Still, you continued to observe, eyes blown wide in absolute shock and awe. Ace pulled his fist back, and with a mighty blow, fire was sent flying the other man’s way. Soon enough, the ship’s masts were covered in flames that were only spurred on by the breeze, and the man had officially surrendered with a few stuttered words.

You seriously wondered how the ship was still afloat, seeing the flames beginning to rise and burn every nook and cranny of the vessel.

When the man, Ace, returned to the Moby Dick, he was followed by Doma and his crew. The all had their hanging in shame while Whitebeard’s crew cheered in victory, congratulating fire-boy. Some ran up to him, clapping him on the shoulder with big smiles on their faces while you stayed behind, arms crossed over your bandaged chest as you continued to gape at him. This man really was something different.

Sensing someone’s eyes on him, he surveyed the area around him, eyes locking with yours in a heartbeat. You froze, blinking in surprise but being unable to snap your gaze someplace else. The silver eyes that met yours were full of curiosity, and you knew that you were about to be asked for your name and whatever the hell he wanted to know. Jaw clenched, you grip the fabric of your shirt, heart pounding in your ears as time slowed down. The both of you stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, your ears feeling like they were plugged as you focused on only _him_. There was so much intensity behind those eyes, and you didn't know if he was doing that on purpose on not. His head cocked to the side innocently, and you knew that he  _hadn't done that on purpose._

Needle-like pricks of fear trickled down your back down to your toes, and you finally,  _finally_ ripped your gaze away.

You whipped around, lips pressed into a thin line as you promptly left the scene, his gaze lingering on your retreating form.

Fortunately for you, he made no move to follow you. Instead, he faced Thatch who had also paused and was about to ask him what he was so intently looking at, and inquiring:

“Who was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, not a full on conversation between you two, but that will come. And hopefully soon. Depends on how much I drag this out (I like taking my time when it comes to stories like these lol).
> 
> But hey, you got to see a ship being burned to the ground (to the ocean?), and all thanks to our fav fire-boy, so at least there's that.
> 
> Well, not much else to say other than thank you for reading! I hope you're still enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it (^-^)b
> 
> [Oh and you're gonna get to pick out a fake name for yourself. Yay!]


	5. One of Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh here it is. Finally. Well, first of all, let me say sorry for taking so long to add another chapter. Things have taken a massive turn and right now I'm not 100% sure if it's a good turn or not. But anyways! Again, here it is! A more light-hearted chapter to keep us all happy :)
> 
> I mean I hope lol I don't know if I did any of these awesome characters justice but, fingers crossed!
> 
> *A big thank you to the people that have made comments on both this and my other, most recent story. They really do warm my heart. Again, all mistakes are mine and only my own.*

You’d been here for another four days, and even then he didn’t understand you.

In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to understand someone like you.

He didn’t understand how there could be someone so strange up and about on their ship, and they already had plenty of weirdos aboard. He sat, perched on the railing and a drink in his grasp, watching with curious and focused eyes as you strolled around with an obvious limp.

But even if there was a limp to your gait, you still moved about with effortless elegance, eyes searching every nook and cranny as if something or someone would jump out at you at any given moment. Even if you winced every now and then, placing a hand on your side, it was clear that you were more than ready to fight someone if you needed to. You did not let your obvious torment hinder you, or stop you from reaching for a missing weapon out of pure habit.

Your chin was held high, back straight and shoulders pulled back, your being radiating confidence with an obvious undertone of fear and doubt. You didn’t let that stop you from sending people who stared for too long annoyed looks, though, even if you were obviously still very weakened and saddened by whatever had happened to you.

There was a sense of authority and strength in you behind all that doubt, and Ace knew that even at your lowest ebb, you would not bow your head to someone unless you absolutely needed to.

Your lips were usually pulled into a thin line, pressed together as if to remind you of where you were, and of when to talk.

And then there were your eyes. They held this fierce, flickering flame that burned everyone that dared to glance your way, and those who did were met with a challenging look that had most men wary of the stranger’s almost invisible presence.

He thought you were invisible because, when you were lucky, you could walk by someone without being spared a look. Because you could lurk in the shadows for a long time, back against a wall and arms crossed over your chest before someone finally took notice of you, when you had been aware of their existence hours beforehand.

Whether you did all these things on purpose or not, he wasn’t sure.

And that confused him. And it made him suspicious, more suspicious and wary than he already was around strangers.

How could there be someone so… so… sneaky on this ship? There were so many people on this ship, and yet you were a ghost among everyone. Hell, he hadn't seen you once until he felt your eyes boring holes into him after defeating Doma (poor guy had to borrow supplies to repair their ship enough to sail to the nearest island).

He had kept a close eye on you once he saw you wandering around the ship at night, sticking to the shadows as he waited impatiently for you to try to down one of his crewmates. You never did, though. Instead, you’d spent lots and lots of time staring into the ocean, a faraway look in those (eye colour) orbs of yours. He noted the fact that you could easily sense when someone was around, and he was thankful that Thatch had showed up when he did. Had he not, he would’ve been discovered.

When you and Thatch had spoken, Ace almost leaned closer in the direction of your voice so he could actually hear what you were saying, your voice a low baritone and so hushed that he actually began questioning the man with the pompadour, mentally asking him how the hell he was hearing the much smaller man speak.

And then there was that: your frame. You were so much tinier compared to everyone else, that even Haruta looked manlier than you. Ace himself was almost a head taller than you. And although you wore a long and heavy looking long coat that made you look bigger and added to your intimidating appearance, it was obvious that you were quite thin, too- frail, even.

He hummed thoughtfully, downing his drink quickly, breathing a satisfied sigh afterward.

He sat there for a long while, dark eyes watching you closely. Right now, you were meandering about like always, but it looked like you were searching for something. Left eyebrow raised, he squinted his eyes, ready to see if you really were going to harm someone. It wasn’t until someone spoke to him and clapped him on the shoulder did he finally snap back into reality, blinking rapidly as he straightened up and turned to face whoever had spoken to him.

“What’re you staring at ~yoi?” The blond man inquired curiously, an eyebrow raised as he too turned to look in the same way, “Ah... him.” He nodded, but Ace didn’t respond.

“…what’s with him…?” He finally asked, his eyebrows still knitted in concentration. He saw his friend shrug from the corner of his eye.

“Who knows?” He mused, “Pops said to leave him, so…” He trailed off, shrugging once more.

“But… why?” He blurted, head swiveling to look at Marco. The man shook his head.

“Again, who knows?” He paused, before he added with an amused look on his face, “But it looks like Thatch has made a new friend ~yoi.” He remarked, eyes still trained on the two unsuspecting individuals.

Ace chuckled, “That guy’s friends with everyone.”

Marco made a noise of agreement, chortling. Ace joined him, and then they were silent for a while before the raven-haired man had a sudden idea.

He jumped down from the wooden railing, landing with a _thump_ before he was walking away.

“Where are you going?” The blond called after him, arms crossed over his chest.

“Gonna go talk to the new guy.” Ace called back, spinning around to flash him a smile before facing forwards again, leaving Marco to sigh before trudging after him with slow steps.

 

(x)

 

_Why does he insist?_

You thought, eyes narrowed in thought as you stared at the man in front of you. He was babbling away as if nothing was wrong with the world, as if there wasn’t a stranger- well, you couldn’t really consider yourself a stranger anymore. Maybe an acquaintance…?

Oh, whatever.

He was still talking. And you needed to keep memorizing the perimeter just in case, not listen to this man talk about cooking. Sure, you were fond of food, but you weren’t about to have an entire conversation about it.

Still, you endured, adding your own thoughts to the conversation to keep it going even if it bored you to death. Really, you had no opinion on any of the things he was asking you, so you didn’t understand why he was bothering.

He had an excited glint in his eyes as he spoke, before his gaze flickered to something over your shoulder (or more so your head), “And- oh, Ace! Marco!” He grinned, greeting his brother rather loudly. Your head whipped around to look at the two men, having heard both of their names several times in other people’s conversations while you did your snooping.

You’d heard of their powers, the awed praise, and the envious comments from other grumpy crewmates. Your shoulders tensed in that same instant, jaw clenching and hands curling into fists as you watched them approach the both of you. The blond still had the same bored look on his face, but it seemed like he always appeared that way. He didn’t look as intimidating as your first meeting with him, but he still loomed over you in a way that had you taking a small step back.

Thatch continued speaking, taking a step to stand at your side as he clapped you on the shoulder as if you were an old friend. You jumped, resisting the urge to reel back and tell him to shove his hand up where it fit. You knew they were being friendly, but you did not want to be touched with the injuries you were bearing right now.

Instead, you held your ground, taking a deep breath to cool down. You took a subtle, more defensive stance, hoping that none of them noticed your alertness in case they took it the wrong way. You didn’t want to jump head first into a battle with these people.

Your side throbbed slightly, the continuous ache a constant reminder of what had happened not even a month ago. The material tightly wrapped around your torso made breathing feel like a chore in this moment, too, as you felt the hairs on the back of your neck bristle in fear.

Ace grinned back, while Marco nodded in acknowledgment, a small smile on his face.

“Thatch,” Ace addressed politely, his gaze flickering to you occasionally. With each look at the much taller man, the more anxious you felt. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t say anything without sounding off. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“Who’s this?” Ace inquired, remembering that last time he had tried asking his friend, he hadn’t gotten an answer. They had had to get moving, and they were both in charge of their own divisions, so their conversation was cut short in the end. The man with the pompadour blinked, turning to you.

“Oh! This is…” He trailed off, expecting you to answer for yourself. You weren’t paying attention at the moment though, having come to an annoying and very scary realization.

A new name… you needed a new name for yourself, one that didn’t sound suspicious or too cliché or something.

_Crap._

Taking a deep breath, you looked at them all, eyebrows raised as you opened your mouth. You quickly shut it, eyes wide and panicking. No talking. No talking.

“(Fake name),” You blurted, luckily remembering to keep it down and making your voice deeper. They didn’t seem to notice your panic, which was good. You already knew their names, but you were expecting them to repeat their names again.

“(Fake name),” The raven-haired man reiterated as if testing your new name, the syllables rolling off his tongue smoothly before he introduced himself, “I’m Ace, Portgas D. Ace.” He held his hand out for you to shake, waiting.

You hesitated, suspicious, before you relented, accepting the hand with a firm shake. You felt a warm tingle in your palm and fingers, and your grip loosened slightly, confused and lost in the feeling.

Remembering that this was a handshake and not some romantic dinner-date, you pulled your hand back, letting it fall at your side in a clenched fist.

“And I’m Marco ~yoi,” The other man introduced himself but kept his hands to himself. He nodded your way politely, and you returned the gesture. Before anyone else could make any other comments, Thatch was already talking again, apparently done with introductions.

“So! Since you’re part of our crew now-” There he goes again.

Eyebrows knitted together, you took a step away from him. He paused before he smiled.

“Do you really think Pops would let you stick around if you weren’t?” He asked, and something about his words sent chills down your spine.

“…what?” You questioned, unsure of what he was hinting at.

“The old man said to leave you alone,” He continued, “So that means you must be one of us!” He shrugged, still smiling. You stared at him in disbelief, suddenly remembering the comment he made before.

_“Well, since your part of our crew now-”_

“I didn’t agree to anything.” You pointed out firmly, but you couldn’t help but think about the old man. He would have kicked you off this ship if he didn’t want you here, or told someone to stop bringing you food. “I…” You paused, unsure of what say next.

No one said anything, not even Thatch, who knew how to salvage conversations when they lagged. Unconsciously, you had started retreating, taking feeble steps back that had Thatch following you.

“Hey, no need to get spooked, I was just-”

You shook your head, putting more distance between the three puzzled men. The other two shared a look, but what it meant you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You just needed to leave.

And so you walked away, leaving the three of them to stare at your retreating form. Meanwhile, Marco gave Thatch a harsh look.

"Was that really necessary?" He asked, eyebrow quirked. Thatch shrugged his shoulders, fixing the cloth wrapped snugly around his throat.

Maybe you weren't ready for jokes yet?

(x)

“Part of their crew,” You murmured, pacing in your room, “Part of _their_ crew?”

“Impossible.” You continued talking, uncaring if anyone outside happened to walk by and hear. If they ended up offended or not, you didn’t care. This was… you didn’t know. What were you expected to think in a situation like this?

You were a captain for God’s sakes! You weren’t about to get a tattoo on your body with that old man’s Jolly Roger, even if it was the only thing saving your life. Not in a million years.

You weren’t angry, no, but you were more than a little shocked. All this time you had wondered why he had kept you around for as long as he did, and it turns out that he had already said you were one of his... his children without you knowing. It was like signing a contract without even actually signing it.

But then your mind was jumping to the ‘what ifs’ again.

“Ugh...” You grumbled, rubbing your temples, “No, no, no. I refuse. I…”

You already knew you weren’t ready to be your own captain. It hadn’t been a bloody year and you’d already lost so many people and endured so much, and it was wearing you down slowly. Eating away at you and plaguing your dreams each and every night. You’d resisted, you’d stayed strong, but you couldn’t fight the terrors.

You scratched the back of your neck, tugged at your hair in frustration, and paced around until you memorized the room and could do it with your eyes shut tight. It was tiring, and your limbs were begging you to stop and rest, but you couldn’t. Not with your brain close to exploding. And you would not like this explosion.

“What is this old man even thinking.” You asked particularly no one, eyes trained on the wall now, “What good am I to a ship full of weirdos and devil-fruit users?” You kept going, a little voice in the back of your head whispering something about how your crew was weird too, including you.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” You let out a small whine, feeling a headache coming your way.

You had thought about this before, a war raging inside your mind for hours on end, before you relented. You’d have to join.

But then how could you avenge your crewmates? How could you go off on your own, with nothing and no one to back you up? Yeah, you’d join, but you’d have to keep up this act until you finally worked up the nerve and told them or you were shot dead. But telling them was risky. What in the hell would they think?

“Oh hey, you know that dead girl you saw on the wanted posters not too long ago? It was me. Surprise, you’ve been fooled! Now let’s party!” You rambled on sarcastically, rolling your eyes at the end of your sentence.

Okay, you wouldn’t go ahead and say it that way, but right now… right now you couldn’t function.

You raked your fingers through your hair, feeling the short, tousled strands in between them. You took a deep breath, the action making the gauze around your chest even tighter, to the point it was suffocating. Frustrated, you started pulling at the material until it was looser than before, letting you breathe normally.

You’d fix it later.

Now, you needed sleep. It was late, and you’d been in here, panicking and stumbling around for hours.

You gave your bed a longing look, before trudging over to it. In all honesty, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but you weren’t about to complain. It kept you warm, and the mattress was okay.

Pulling the covers over your head, you closed your eyes, hoping to get some shut-eye before you had to face the people outside of your door once more.

(x)

You couldn’t sleep.

You had stayed up all night thinking about the same thing, thoughts drifting to other possibilities and more ‘what ifs’, the past, the future, where you stand now. They kept you awake all night long.

You tossed and turned, changed positions, paced around a bit more in hopes of tiring yourself out, but to no avail. You rubbed your eyes with your palms, now seated at the edge of the bed, hunched over. The gauze had come off completely sometime during the night, forgotten somewhere beneath the covers as you mulled over several things. Then, you had put it on, knowing that you’d have to leave eventually.

You had to join them.

Staying holed up in this fusty room and avoiding them all when you knew you couldn’t even if you tried was not an option. There were too many people for that, and someone would check up on you eventually.

Grunting, you clawed at the sheets in vexation. Even though you knew you weren’t ready to lead an entire crew, you didn’t want to give up the title. Not this early in your life of piracy.

But you had to join them.

Heaving an irritated sigh, you begrudgingly let go of the sheets before standing up slowly, hesitantly dragging your feet to the door. You placed your hand on the door, feeling the smooth wood under your fingertips for a second before pushing it open slowly, the light the hit you in the face close to blinding.

You didn’t allow the sun and its unforgiving rays to deter you, though, as you entered the outside world and let the door behind you close. You were walking away even before it clicked shut, new found confidence in your strides as you retraced your steps to the old man’s room.

When you were finally standing in front of the white door, ignoring the intricate golden designs that framed the wood as you opened it. Inside, Whitebeard rested on his bed, already fully awake and with an alcoholic drink in his abnormally large hand. His eyes snapped upwards at the creaking of the door, blinking once, twice, at you before he was raising an eyebrow. Inhaling deeply, you carefully stepped inside, leaning against the door so it closed.

There was silence in the room as the two of you looked into the other’s eyes, both your pride as captains not allowing you to back down. Clearing your throat, you eventually looked away, surveying the room before you were declaring:

“I’ll do it.”

At his look, you rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to clarify, “I’ll join your little boy club.” Not the right wording, but you didn’t want to appear as a weakling, even if this man was the strongest in the world.

He was silent for a long time before he smiled at you, which prompted you to tilt your head to the side in confusion. When he said nothing, you sighed.

“You’re seriously not going to say anything?” You huffed, irked.

And then he was laughing. It was a rough, exuberant, unabashed sound that had you cheeks burning for whatever reason.

You stood there awkwardly, and then he was commenting in that booming voice of his, “I knew you’d come around, (your name).”

“Okay, first, no saying my real name, like ever. Second, what do you mean by ‘you knew I’d come around?'”

He didn’t respond to your first statement, but you knew he’d heard you.

He shrugged, an amused gleam in his golden eyes, “I just knew.”

Alright, now he was being mysterious.

“Well, whatever, I’m one of you now.” This all felt very anticlimactic, with his cryptic comments and the lack of an audience. Not that you really wanted one, but still.

“Didn’t think you’d be letting go of the captain title so soon,” He added with a knowing grin, and you sucked in a deep breath.

“Don’t remind me, old man. This is temporary.” You pointed out with a slight pout despite the situation, already missing the authority you once held in your hands, “I’ll be gone before you can even bark one order at me.” You added, a silent promise hidden behind your words.

“We’ll see.” He replied thoughtfully, taking another swig from his drink.

(x)

“So you talked to the old man?” Thatch inquired excitedly, prompting a smile tug at the corners of your lips. You wiped it off your face before it became too visible.

“Yes.” You replied curtly.

“And so you’re one of us now? For sure?” He continued, leaning towards you with a grin.

“Yes.” You drawled, leaning away before he got too close to you, before adding in a hushed voice, “Now will you stop that.” You allowed your hand to rest on his large shoulder, pushing him away slightly.

He chuckled at that, eyes closing for a brief moment, “We should celebrate.” He declared, and you spluttered, breathing a weak ‘what?’.

“Celebrate what?” A new voice piped in, cutting your conversation short. You recognized it and turned to the raven-haired man, not at all fazed by his intimidating aura by now.

“It’s official!” Thatch proclaimed excitedly, “He’s one of us now.”

Both you and Ace shared a glance, and you bit your lip.

He smiled, and chuckled before he was asking, “So who’s division are you gonna join?” He asked interestedly, before he carried on nonchalantly, “You should join mine.” You saw Thatch's face drop, the smile that usually adorned his face falling and face morphing into a more serious look.

“Hey, now, I’m his best friend here.” Thatch argued, “He's joining mine.” He fixed his foulard, then he was glancing your way, an eyebrow raised in a silent request.

“Who’s joining who?” A new person called, and you almost ran. What was happening right now?

“(Fake name)’s joining my division.” Ace replied with a bright, innocent smile, ignoring Thatch’s angry sputtering in the back.

“Is this some competition or something…” You voiced your thoughts, which had Marco turning to you with a quiet chuckle as the other two continued to argue. There was yelling, someone getting called a brat, and then more squabbling.

“They’ve made it their top priority to have the most members in their division.” He explained with an annoyed look on his face, though you could see the underlying fondness for his brothers in his eyes.

And then _another_ person was joining their little argument. This other person was a fairly short man, with a green and white ruffed outfit that puffed out at the shoulders. He wore white tights and had a pair of black boots.

Having heard the ruckus, he too had started protesting and claiming that ‘whoever we are yelling about should join _my_ division!”. 

Overwhelmed, you chose to stick to Marco’s side, who seemed a lot friendlier than you had previously assumed.

He was watching the scene in front of him with a bored look on his face before he was turning to you.

“I’m sorry about them.” He apologized on their behalf, knowing that they wouldn’t later on and would continue to prattle on and on, “You can join my division if you want ~yoi.” He offered with a smile.

His words had you hissing quietly, “Not you too…” To which he laughed.

Then, he was patting you on the back, “Welcome to the crew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love me some sibling rivalry here. Sorry again if the characters are ooc. I tried my best to stick to their personalities, but then again I have never ever put these characters into a story so it be a bit meehhh. 
> 
> Anyways, I sincerely hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> [sorry if it's also a bit short??? it's hard to keep track lately but bye bye!!]


	6. Drinks, Fun, Poker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's heeeeeeeere!! And after how long? Too long, honestly. Anyways, I just want to say that I'm terribly sorry for the wait and for how long it's taken me to type this. I had a bit of a problem and it really left me with no inspiration whatsoever. But now I'm back!! And I hope you enjoy this chapter because I had quite a lot of fun writing it lol. Especially near the ending.
> 
> EDIT [Aug. 9 2k17]: So I know there hasn't been a lot from me lately, but I just want to say that thank you for all the kudos this has recieved. It got more than.. like... twenty in a really short time and I am both really shocked and really happy. So.. yeah! I'll be updating and possibly explaining what's been happening in the next chapter. See you 'round.

Out in the sea, it was almost never surprising when somebody mentioned a party along with a half-assed explanation as to why it should happen to their captain. You’d had your fair share of people come up to you asking to celebrate this or celebrate that, and while you were fair and usually relented, there were times that you found the parties a little unnecessary. Sometimes, whatever you were celebrating about wasn’t that big of a deal, and so when someone came up to you to celebrate, well… you, for being such a ‘great’ captain, you’d deny their request with a skeptical look. There was always so much –almost too much– to do, so carrying out a party would only be problematic. Those louts just wanted an excuse to get drunk and harbour a hangover that would leave them unable to work.

That’s the reason why they did it, right?

Well, apparently not. Not here, anyways. Here it looked like they were more than happy celebrating anything that was brought up. If it was someone’s birthday, if someone had ended up with a bounty, if someone heard big news from some of their islands (the first time you’d heard they practically owned islands, you almost fainted), they partied and drank like it was their last day in this world. And their captain, he looked like a proud father as he watched his crew run about singing and drinking with nothing but the life of the party keeping them going. You’d seen how hard they worked to keep things running smoothly, both commanders and other crewmembers alike, so when it came down to party, you were slightly concerned for more than half of the men drinking to their heart’s content.

But, why were they partying? What was so important?

Well, there wasn’t anything important, to be perfectly honest. The fact that you had joined them was not really a good excuse to throw a party this big. Or was it? You didn’t know. When you welcomed new men and women, you’d show them around, introduce them to the others, tell them how things worked, guided them through a few other things and then… you were done. They were in your little club.

Now that you think about it, how many breaks did your crew take when they were following your orders?

You chanced a look at a group of men drinking and singing away while seated on the small set of stairs that surrounded what seemed to be the entire deck, bright smiles plastered on their faces. There were drinks in their hands as they chanted a chantey together, with several bottles strewn about the place carelessly, but that seemed to be happening all around.

Perched on the railing, you observed the scene in front of you, feeling out of place but also strangely at peace. You didn’t know if you regretted telling Thatch about joining them since he had made such a big deal about it, but at least you didn’t have to stick to the shadows avoiding everyone anymore. That had been more exhausting than you’d like to admit.

So far, you’d had more than fifteen people approach you to congratulate you on your decision, making casual remarks about how they’d been concerned when they’d found you or that they were glad you had finally allowed yourself to join. Every time it happened, you gave a small smile and a thank you but didn’t bother saying anything else. It was obvious most of them didn’t know where or from whose crew's you had come from (you came from nobody's but your own, but they didn't need to know that). Your fame hadn't reached that far, it seemed.

Now, with your second drink in your hand, you came to the conclusion that maybe it was for the best. Growing too attached to the men aboard this monster of a ship would probably make it more difficult to leave later on, and you really didn’t want that to happen after everything you’ve endured. It would only weaken you, and you needed every ounce of strength if you wanted to survive on your own out there.

Blinking, you looked away, realizing that you’d been staring for too long. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed you. That would’ve been slightly awkward, especially if they invited you over like everyone had been trying to do when they first spoke to you. These people, you’d noticed, were very welcoming despite the fact that you were a stranger among them. It really made you wonder what sort of stories they had to tell and how they’d stumbled upon Whitebeard.

“Enjoying the party?”

You turned to the source of the noise, slightly alarmed but also too inebriated to really be frightened by anything. The owner of the voice was none other than the man that had burned an entire ship all by his lonesome in mere minutes and wore one of the strangest hats you’d ever set your eyes upon.

Clearing your throat, you replied in a low voice, “Yeah.”

Ace placed his hands on the spot beside you and hauled his toned body onto the wooden railing. You glanced at him when he sat down, scooting a little to the side and putting some space in between both your bodies. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You don’t have to be so quiet, you know.” Ace commented with a smile, looking at you. You sent him another glance and shrugged, focusing on the mass of bodies dancing and drinking without a care once more. “Not much of a conversationalist, I see.” He added, still smiling, before going quiet.

The both of you sat in cordial silence, lost in your own thoughts as you listened to the booming chatter and out-of-tune singing of more than five hundred men. There was laughter somewhere on the side that caught your attention, and you recognized it as the captain's. He too was conversing with his crew amicably, a drink in his hand as nurses flocked around him checking several things and wrapping bandages here and there. You brought a hand to your chest when you saw the bandages, the familiar itch from the slightly rough material coming back full force.

You’d been extra careful with how you wrapped them around your chest, reducing the number of times you circled the material around your body to just a few so it wouldn’t be as annoying. Seeing as the material was meant to restrict movement, though, it was still slightly bothersome. Unconsciously, you began scratching at your chest, careful with your black, leather long coat so you wouldn’t reveal too much. Not too long ago, you’d managed to snatch a white long sleeved shirt that was loose-fitting and perfect to conceal most of your curves. You didn’t know whose it was, but nobody had thrown a tantrum yet, so you assumed that the owner either didn’t care or you hadn’t met them yet. And the jacket you donned more constantly was now all fixed up with the needle and thread you'd managed to find in that box of supplies. You weren't the greatest a sewing, but you'd gotten the job done, so now you didn't have a gaping hole from where you'd been stabbed.

“How are you feeling?” Oh. You’d completely forgotten about the man still sitting beside you. You had expected him to get up and go once he saw you weren’t really much of a talker.

“I’m… doing better.” The answer was quiet and truthful, “Still in pain, but better.” You added afterwards. You watched him nod, eyes full of concern as he opened his mouth to speak again.

“How’s your side?” He continued, motioning with his head to the injured area. Placing a gentle hand over the part that was healing, you looked down at it before meeting his eyes again.

“Healing well…” You replied, shrugging again. Ace nodded, that placid smile returning to his face. You continued to stare.

“That’s good.” He said, head swivelling to study the other men. The light from the oil lamps hanging from the walls illuminated the deck, the bright orange glow keeping the darkness at bay. The amber glow accentuated his chiselled face, his nose and jaw and almost every little feature sharp and sculpted. There was that smattering of freckles on his cheeks, slightly obscured by the wavy locks of hair that framed his face.

_Don’t stare, moron._

You turned away, taking a deep breath to cool off slightly. The alcohol had left you warm, tingly, and slightly out of it, but you hadn’t been able to help yourself. After being tense for so long, you wanted to let go for a bit. You weren’t going to go ahead and end up absolutely wasted, but a drink or two never harmed a soul.

Suddenly, you catch a flash of a fiery blue swoop by, disappearing for a second before it was dipping downwards and twirling through the night air. It had hints of bold oranges that flared brilliantly, the two colours melding together to create something that was nothing short of mesmerizing.

“What is that?” You suddenly inquire, the words slipping past your lips in a breathy whisper.

Ace squinted at the creature you had your eyes glued to, humming for a second before exclaiming cheerily, “Oh! That’s Marco! You remember him, right? Looks tired all the time, and has hair resembling a pineapple?” When you nodded, he took it as a sign to proceed, “He can turn into a phoenix.” He finished, smiling.

You gave him a look at his description, lips curled into a small grin.“Yeah, I remember now.” Your eyes went back to the creature, which you had now learned was a phoenix, watching it dip down again near Whitebeard, who just like many others, was also watching the show the first division commander was putting up.

“He only does this when he feels like it or when we really pressure him.” Ace, you noticed, continued to talk no matter what, even if he was the one doing most of the talking. You decided to be a bit more vocal and make your own remarks, instead of just sitting there nodding dumbly.

The phoenix flapped its large wings several times, halting mid-air before descending slowly, the flames becoming smaller and smaller until you could see the blond underneath. Once his feet touched the floor, the crew erupted in cheers and hollers, to which he smiled to. Some flames clung to his body, trying to stay alive, but those were extinguished as well. Soon, he was back to the man you’d stumbled upon several times, either at night when he was on watch or when he was meandering about the ship, much like yourself.

“That was a good show.” You praised, even if the man that put on the show was not within earshot and smiling again when the blond looks your way. He returned the friendly gesture, sauntering over to Whitebeard, who immediately welcomed him back once more. Eyes trained on Marco still, you watched him sit down on one of the armrests of the big golden throne that the captain currently occupied, an eyebrow raised. People here must be really close…

Your eyes swept the area again, eyes resting on a group of commanders sharing a drink and conversing among themselves. There was the one who’d loudly piped in when Thatch and Ace had been arguing over whose division you were joining, whose name was Haruta. He was leaning against the railing, a drink in hand, as he spoke to one who was called Izo with a smirk plastered on his face. Izo, a man dressed in a hot pink kimono with a hint of purple here and there, was watching the shorter man in front of him with a frown pulling the corners of his lips down. Then there was Jozu and Vista, the two rather tall men talking amongst themselves as well over a drink.

While watching the group, you failed to notice the curious glances that were being sent your way by the man beside you, nor the small animal that was steadily making its way towards you. When you heard a sudden bark in front of you, you looked down to see a dog sitting before you with a moustache that resembled Whitebeard’s own. Blinking several times, you glanced at Ace, who was on the ground beside the dog in mere seconds.

“Stefan!” He greeted with that bright grin of his, immediately reaching out to scratch the dog on the head. The dog, Stefan, barked, its tail wagging behind him.

Huh. So the man not only took in outlaws and outsiders, but he also gave stray animals a home. The thought warmed your heart. Jumping down from the railing yourself, you kneeled down to pet the small dog as well, running a hand along its back hesitantly. When it made no move to bite your hand off, you continued, feeling a smile creep its way onto your face. The both of you pet the dog in silence for a minute, when Ace spoke again.

“So, have you thought about whose division you’re joining?” Ace asked, letting his hand rest on Stefan’s back as his eyes focused on you.

“I… well, sort of?” The statement came out more as a question than anything else and very quiet, but it was still the truth. You’d thought about joining Marco’s, and Thatch’s, and Ace’s, but other than those three, you weren’t exactly sure if you wanted to join anyone else. They were the closest things to friends that you had.

Ace laughed heartily, smiling. “Well, you can join mine. My division is missing a few men.” He offered, going back to petting the dog. Stefan moved away from his hand to give you a look, an inquisitive glint in his eyes. Raising your hand, you held it in front of you, watching with a small grin as he sniffed it. Deeming you okay, he allowed you to scratch him again. You looked up at Ace.

“Sure, I’ll join.” You nodded, watching as Ace paused and stared at you with wide, silver eyes.

He blinked, shaking his head before leaning closer to you and blurting, "Really?"

You nodded slowly, a little unsure as to why he was so surprised before he was rising from his spot on the floor with a loud ‘ _AHA!_ ’. Curious, you followed with pinched eyebrows, barely detecting Stefan as he left your side to return to Whitebeard. You looked on as Ace scanned the area for someone, his eyes landing on Thatch, who had turned to look at him. Realization crossed his face, and then he was glancing between you and Ace with wide eyes.

“I told you he’d join my division!” Ace continued, laughing as he turned to you. Shaking your head, you rolled your eyes. Of course, how could you forget? They’d been bickering back and forth for more than an hour! When he saw you roll your eyes, he chuckled again, sending you a wink as Thatch marched over to you with a defeated look on his face. Seeing him wink made you blink several times, mouth falling open slightly as a blush coloured your cheeks. Only when Thatch started talking did you snap out of it, eyes meeting his distressed ones.

“(fake name)! How could you?!” He cried dramatically, grasping your shoulders, “And to your best friend?!” He huffed, letting go of you to face Ace, who was still grinning wide, his own eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Oh, can it, you brat.” Thatch grumbled, before adding with a nonchalant shrug, “I still have more men in my division, anyway.” At the mention of this, Ace’s grin fell slightly, before he too was throwing another comment, all until they were both bickering again. Sighing, you snuck away to find yourself another drink, stumbling across a crate full of bottles filled with alcohol. Grabbing one of the bottles, you took a swig, the burning sensation that invaded your throat making you cringe as you pulled the bottle away from your lips.

You could still hear Ace and Thatch conversing, although it looked like they had finally stopped their squabbling thanks to the annoyed man in the bright kimono. Deciding it was safe to return, you made your way back, glass bottle still in your hands. You should’ve expected them to continue their little quarrel this late into the night, even if it had been hours after the last time you had all talked about the subject.

Oh well. The decision was made, now all you had to do was pray that you had made the right decision in joining Ace’s division. You liked the guy, sure, but you hadn’t been chatting for too long, so there was still room for questions and doubts. Whether this was a good choice or not… well, only time would tell. Now it was time to focus on the now, and to carry things out as smoothly as possible.

By the time you reached the group of three, everything seemed to have gone back to normal. Thatch and Ace were still giving each other looks, some more smug than others, but those seemed to stop once they took note of you.

Only now did you realize you’d never spoken to Izo. Unsure of what to do, you stopped walking, feeling sweat begin to form at your back once your eyes met. He regarded you with a serious look on his face that appeared rather bored, a small cup of what seemed to be sake held carefully in his hands. Seeing your eyes on Izo, Thatch glanced between the two of you, a smile brightening up his face once more.

“Oh, (fake name)!” He began, crossing what little distance there was between the two of you to place a hand on your shoulder, “You’ve met Izo, right?”

You shook your head slowly, holding out a hand for the taller man to take when you were close enough. Izo shook it with his free hand, nodding his head politely, although the look of boredom never left his face.

“We were thinking of playing poker, by the way.” Thatch added as he watched you two, a mischievous grin playing at his lips. He had an evil look in his eye, one that told you to be wary of this man and his card tricks.

“You can join if you so wish.” Izo, surprisingly, spoke, some of the seriousness dropping and a small smile lighting up his features.

Seeing Thatch’s look had really put you on edge, especially since it was obvious he had something planned, but you didn’t really want to go back to being on your own, so rather reluctantly, you agreed.

“…sure.”

“Great!” He grabbed your arm, still grinning as he dragged you to a spot where other commanders had also gathered, Izo following close behind. From where you were, you could see five people already there, laughing and chatting with one another. Luckily for you, they were all people you were familiarized with.

“Alright, alright, so! Are we all ready?” The man with the pompadour called excitedly, rubbing his hands together as he sat down, Izo joining him on the floor. You settled down beside Ace, who greeted you, sounding equally enlivened. On your right sat Haruta, who had a grin on his face that resembled Thatch’s wicked look from a couple minutes ago, his tongue peeking out from between his lips.

A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘hell yeah’ reached your ears as you sat there, legs crossed as you leaned your weight on your arms. You were fairly calm, having played poker a fair amount of times at local bars and with friends. By no means were you an expert when it came to card games, but you were fairly certain that a few rounds against these people you could win. That didn’t mean you allowed yourself to gloat or show any signs of confidence, seeing as this crew was without a doubt the most surprising group of people you’d ever stumbled up.

Inhaling deeply, you studied your little group, seeing that there were seven players that included: Izo, Haruta, yourself, Ace, Marco, Vista, and Thatch, all in that order. Izo had been declared the dealer for this night, and without further ado, the cards were shuffled expertly by the man with the complex looking hair and kimono. The cards seemed to blur together as he rearranged them seamlessly before they stopped moving. Everyone had gone silent once they heard the telltale sound of cards being jumbled together and were now watching with either small smirks or relaxed expressions.

Separating the cards, Izo handed out five cards to each player swiftly and deftly, before placing the rest of the pile in front of him. Everyone dragged their cards along the floor, not wanting anyone to get a look, before holding them close to their bodies. There were still some confident smirks here and there, especially from Thatch, but aside from that, everyone remained silent.

Checking your handful of cards, you took a deep breath once you saw them, keeping a watchful eye on the two people besides you. You had some space in between all of you, but a little caution never harmed anyone. Aside from that, your cards were… well, they were good. Not the best, but it could’ve been worse.

You could still see Thatch smirking from over your cards, which unnerved you a little.

Izo seemed to wait until everyone was done examining their cards, before glancing at Haruta, who presented his cards. Eyes skimming over your cards for a second or two, you flipped them as well, and the rest followed.

...

..

.

Well then.

“Damn it.” You hear someone complain, and your eyes snap to Marco, who was staring at his cards in disappointment. Biting your lip, you fought the smile that was threatening to show. Everyone laughed at the unfortunate man while he stood up, glaring at those who pointed their fingers at him while he removed his shoes before sitting back down.

“Just how many times has this happened?” Thatch, who had crossed his arms over his chest once he had placed his cards on the wooden floor, snickered.

“Shut it.” Marco hissed at him, sitting back with an angry huff.

This time, when Izo handed out the cards, there was chatter among the players. It seemed everyone was a bit apprehensive when it came to the first round, but after that round, the atmosphere seemed to take a much more relaxing turn.

Well, it was all great and relaxing except for you.

_Strip poker…It just had to be strip **fucking** poker. No wonder Thatch was making that face before… that bastard._

Taking a deep breath and sighing quietly, you tried to calm your racing heart, hand brushing over your neck. If it came down to it, you’d have to take off your clothing, and that meant revealing your true identity.

_Ugh. This secret identity thing is more tiring than I thought it would be._

Whatever. You just had to keep your shirt and pants on you, and you’d be perfectly fine. You just had to pray that you got good cards and not the mess that Marco ended up with (poor guy), and you’d be okay.

With that thought in mind, you focused back on the game, listening to the friendly banter being tossed around as Izo repeated the same routine as before. Once you received your cards, you pulled them close to you, flipping them so only you could see them. Whether you lost this round or not, you weren’t too worried.

_I can do this._

Oh, if only.

(x)

A couple rounds later, and you and Thatch were the only ones with your clothing intact, much to your well-hidden shock. Marco had lost his shoes and the blue sash, Ace had lost the orange hat and his boots, Vista his top hat, and Haruta had relinquished his shoes. Ace had sent you a suspicious look, which you acknowledged with a raised eyebrow as you held your new cards closer to your chest.

“You’re not cheating, are you?” He questioned, leaning towards you so you could get a better look at the face he was making at you.

“No.” You replied dryly, rolling your eyes as you heard Haruta flip his cards and doing the same thing to yours. Your handful had unfortunately not turned out to be the very best, but you still had some hope within you.

Without looking away from you, Ace turned his cards so they too were facing upwards, that suspicious look still on his face except with his left eyebrow raised. Mimicking his look, you dropped your gaze to his pile. Seeing his cards made you drop the look, eyes blinking several times as you took in the sight.

His pile had definitely won this round, and when scrutinizing the rest of the cards it seems that…

You lost.

Oh shit. Damn, you had been so wrong about your pile.

  
“Looks like (fake name)’s lost this time,” Marco commented casually as he smiled smugly. Ace gave your pile an incredulous look, his face lighting up and laughing at your defeat. Glaring at him, you placed your hand on his shoulder to shove him away from you, rising to your feet to kick off your footwear.

Sitting back down, you sent one final look at the raven haired man beside you, who was appearing to be much happier at your loss. Placing your cards in the centre so Izo could recollect them, you huffed quietly as you leaned back, your bare feet peeking out from beneath your crossed legs.

(x)

Another series of rounds and you still remained unscathed save for your feet. Ace was down to his pants, having lost his red beaded necklace, the arm guard, and the dagger hidden in the green sheath. Haruta had removed his socks, Vista had given up his gloves and boots, Marco his shirt and that odd straw decoration that adorned his left leg, and Thatch… he was still snickering in the background like the bastard he was. You were starting to think that _he_ was the one cheating.

Most of the chatter had now been reduced to idle comments, but other than that, people were on edge. So far, it looked like Ace was going to be losing tonight’s game, but with how easily tables could be turned, it could also be you losing more than your shoes.

Shifting, you swallowed harshly, nervously scratching the back of your neck as you watched Izo pass what could be the last round of the game. You had been growing more and more tired as time went by, but the party was obviously going to last much longer and it was also very clear that these people were going to pull through it like it was an everyday occurrence.

Once you reached for your cards and had them close to you, you flipped them quickly and scanned them. You breathed a soundless sigh as you stared at them, praying with all your might that you didn’t lose this round.

Just like many times before, everyone showed their cards to the world, and with a rigid body, you noted that you were indeed safe. You could feel the need to scream out of pure relief hit you head on, but of course, you kept your voice to yourself. Now… if you weren’t losing, who was? Glancing around, you waited for someone to announce the player’s loss.

“ **Shit**.” The person on your left hissed out of nowhere.

And lo and behold, it was your dear friend, Portgas.

Immediately, people began to chortle and laugh at him, and you almost followed suit. Instead, you chose to smile, patting him on the back in hopes of comforting the kid. He looked like someone had kicked his dog. His shoulders were hunched as he tried to hide the angry, bright red blush creeping onto his face, eyebrows furrowed over silver eyes. When everyone continued to poke fun at him, his blush darkened visibly as he averted his gaze to the floor, sighing pitifully.

You watched him for a bit, eyebrows arching when he stood up without another word and-

 _Oh_.

 ** _Ohhhh_**.

Ace didn’t- oh.

Ace was proud of the tattoo on his back and was by no means ashamed of his body in any way, but now that you thought about it, you felt bad for him but you also felt forever grateful to whatever deity was watching over you. For starters, you hadn’t ended up in the situation he was currently in and revealed your true identity, and second, you would have been just as embarrassed as him, if not more. Were you embarrassed for him? You didn’t really know but, well, the man was now taking his black knee-length shorts off.

At once, your eyes snapped to anywhere but the man standing beside you, a dark blush blossoming on your cheeks as you fought to keep your laughter in check. Everyone around you howled with unabashed laughter as Ace grabbed his shorts and covered himself with a sigh that sounded so, so flustered and bashful you almost felt bad for him.

Thatch and Haruta proceeded to roll around the ground, holding their stomachs as they continued to guffaw. Vista’s booming laughter shook the floorboards as he too placed a hand on his chest. Izo and Marco, although much quieter than the rest, were also laughing. And you? You were just glad that this wasn’t happening to you.

After a while, the game was declared over and everyone was allowed to put their clothes back on. Ace hastily threw his shorts back on, cheeks still incredibly red as he placed his hat on the top of his head to hide his face. Once everyone had put on their clothes, they retreated somewhere else, congratulating the winner, Thatch, who was brimming with smugness.

You tugged your boots back on, adjusting them before straightening up and sighing, relieved but also elated. Despite the fear you’d felt the whole game, you had to admit that it had been lots of fun. Looking around, you spotted Ace leaning against the wooden railing not too far from your current position, staring out into the ocean with cheeks that were still red. A breathy, low, hint of a chuckle worked its way past your lips as you walked up to him, resting your arms on the wooden railing in front of you as you stood beside him.

The two of you said nothing for a while as you watched the dark waves lap at the ship’s side below.

“Good game.” You said as you turned to him with a small smile, your voice breathy and barely above a whisper. He blinked, his shoulders dropping from their taut position, and then he smiled at you.

“Yeah. Good game.”

Ace was still very much at a loss of who you were and where you came from, and he still didn’t fully understand you, but he was certain that he would soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note: it might feel like there's nothing much happening but it's okay because i have a few things planned. Just need to work it all out and write it down so i make this story as good as i can (im one for small drabbles so story writing is a whole 'nother world for me). 
> 
> But hey, thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and all criticism is greatly appreciated. It means a lot to me :)


	7. Drown, why don't You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit more difficult...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys you guys you guys-- it's here! It's finally here! Can you believe it?! I certainly can because I just sat on my ass for like three hours and avoided homework just so I could get this done. *coughs*
> 
> Anyways, I'll explain what happened to me and what kinda shit life threw at me in the notes at the end, so I will see you there after you're done reading this chapter because you deserve it after waiting for so long. Now, I will mention that I was copying and pasting a crap ton when editing this so I may have messed up everything and it might make no sense. If so, please do tell me because I want to make this chapter good. It's... well, it's certainly better than the last one I wrote for my gang wars AU I think, but a lot happened in this chapter and I don't know if I'm rushing the story or not. So again, tell me! I'm doing my best to edit out holes and the like to make this story better, and your assistance and criticism are appreciated.
> 
> See you down below!

It’d been a long while after your little welcoming party, and boy, were you regretting drinking any alcohol at all.

After the poker game that took place after joining the second commander’s division, you’d taken off to find another drink, replacing it if you finished it. You’d never done such a thing before, but it seemed that the life of the party had wormed its way into your head, taken every insecurity, and thrown it out the window. It was easy to remember parts of the ordeal, but if you’d ended up embarrassing yourself in some way you didn’t know. Thankfully though, you’d remembered to take off the bandages binding your chest before falling asleep, so that you could be grateful about, you supposed. You didn’t want to know what damage you would have had to endure if you had made the stupid decision of keeping them on.

Now, you were sitting up in your bed, one hand rubbing soothing circles into your temple while the other rubbed the sleepiness from your eyes. It was dark in this room, but judging by the streak of light entering the room from underneath the door, it was morning. A glimpse through one of the portholes proved you correct.

After prying the covers off you, you decided it was high time to go and get some fresh air. Perhaps that would alleviate the pain that was currently making your head feel like it was about to explode.

Trudging over to your boot, you pulled it on, securing it and making sure it wouldn’t slip off somehow. Then, you begin your search for the other one. You are famous for being a handful when drunk, but you’re hoping that hadn’t been the case yesterday- or had it been a few hours ago? The party had lasted a good 7 hours, at least…

You shrugged, grabbing your discarded footwear. Your other boot had been sitting on top of a barrel, and judging how it landed, you’d somehow hurled it across the room and gotten it there. Odd, but again, you are a strange one when inebriated.

After pulling the boot on and fastening it, you straightened up again and cleared your throat, yawning to relax the muscles there. You’d figured how to deepen your voice, and had been working on lowering the pitch whenever possible so you’d be able to talk more often.

Humming quietly, you scan the room to keep yourself distracted, the headache still bothering you but not as much. You mumbled your name in the deepest voice you could muster, still mindful of whom or what could be standing outside your door. You’d met some… eccentric individuals at the party, people that had you wondering how the hell they ended up here and what they were up to. Keeping your mouth shut is easier, too, since you usually talk to yourself when lost in thought. At times, though, you felt like someone had their ear pressed against the door, listening to you babble on, then running to find their friends and sharing your secret. It made you nervous, tremendously so, so you were always listening for anything that could give away whoever is trying to blow your cover.

“…Hmmm… humm…. My name is (fake name)….” Your voice begins to strain, but still, you push on. There’s no growth or improvement when you were in your comfort zone, after all. And if this was damaging your voice… you didn’t care.

When the strain became too much to handle, you stopped and massaged the area, proud of yourself despite the small change in your voice. That means there’s progress, and even if it was tiny, you were still getting somewhere.

Deciding that it was time to go outside for real, you fixed your jacket and your white shirt, brushing your shoulders free from imaginary dust, and marched up to the door. Opening it with all the confidence you could rally, you hissed when you cross the doorway. The unforgiving sunlight hit you immediately, blinding you and forcing you to shield your eyes from the rays of light. Once you turned away and could see properly, you ran a hand through your short hair, the grime making it feel gross underneath your fingertips. Stains decorate your sleeves, either from blood or dirt, which made you cringe whenever you saw them, each one a reminder of what had happened not even a month ago.

Basically, you needed a bath.

After having water in your clothes and hair for days, your odd scent became non-existent. A downside, though: you smelled like salt. Thankfully, though, nobody made a remark.

Still, it was gross. You felt gross.

The thing is, how the hell did you do it? You couldn’t go in the women’s area, seeing as you weren’t a woman to any of these people, but… you’d have to go to… the other place…

You’d leave that place a different person for sure, and whether that was a good thing was arguable.

Inhaling deeply, you let the fresh air fill your lungs, breathing a sigh as you continued walking to the main deck. It’s apparent that many of the men that had been partying last night hadn’t bothered heading back to their quarters, seeing as at least half were unconscious. The group you had observed is there, although they had ended separated. Currently, they were on the floor in awkward positions. You tip-toed your way around men, making sure you didn’t step on anyone’s face as you passed by. It was hard not to snicker at some people; some were embracing each other, courtesy of someone with a cruel sense of humor.

Descending some stairs, you make it to the lower deck, where the hall stretches on for forever. Doubting you would end up finding what you were searching for, you stop. The halls of this ship had many doors, each leading to God knew where. You did not want to barge into someone’s room and end up scarred.

But it wasn’t like you had a choice. Besides, you could use another bout of exploring. The knowledge of how to navigate this place would be useful in the future.

That thought in mind, you head out, marching down the halls while glancing at every room you passed. You moved past the galley at one point, and it is loud and you can smell good food in the air. There was the sound of men talking, probably the cooks discussing what they were going to make for the others.

It wouldn’t shock you if your commander was in there, after that whole display yesterday with dinner.

That word felt strange on your tongue. It felt odd to think about calling someone something like that. Were you going to be forced to call him that?

“Commander…!” You muttered to yourself, eyebrows pinched together as you went through scenarios in your head. Did you have to use his title in battle? How did you address him?

Holding your chin in thought as you walked, you continued to mutter the word to yourself, unaware of the large, imposing figure sauntering down the hall and your way.

After repeating the word for the third time, your shoulder collides with someone else’s, and you are close to tripping over your feet. The person was large, huge, and while stumbling, your mind unhelpfully wanders back to how much smaller you felt here.

This thought only grows in volume when your eyes meet dark brown, almost black, ones. You paused, backing away with an apology at the tip of your tongue.

Just as you open your mouth to say something, the man in front of you chuckles, a friendly smile crossing his face.

“Takes some gettin’ used to, eh?” He asks, putting some distance and giving you room. You blink in surprise, mentally preparing yourself to put your practice too good use.

“Yeah… sure does.” You rub your pained shoulder, sticking your free one out for the giant to shake. “(fake name).”

He looks down at your hand, completing the gesture and dwarfing your hand with his.

“Name’s Teach. ” Teach said, still smiling at you. His mouth is missing a number of teeth.

Now that the introductions over with, you let your hand fall back to your side, inhaling deeply and clearing your throat once more.

“So, you’re the new guy everyone’s talkin’ about?” He asks, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. You let go of shoulder to mimic his actions if only to comfort yourself. People here were and are intimidating as all hell, and this guy was no exception.

Swallowing past the nervous lump in your throat, you say, “Yep. That’s me.” It was difficult to keep your voice level, but somehow you were still managing.

The man in front of you laughs heartily, eyes bright and happy as he places a hand on your shoulder. “Glad you could join us; we’re quite the family.” His hand pushes your shoulder the slightest bit, and you get the idea, facing the same direction and walking alongside him as he begins moving.

“Who’s division you in, eh?” Teach continues, looking ahead, his hand now gone. You sniffle while glancing at each door you pass, wondering where they lead and making guesses for each one.

“Second.” You state, shrugging a little, “How about you?” The words ghosted past your lips quieter than before since talking was starting to feel odd. There was uncomfortable tingling at the back of your throat forcing you to swallow every two seconds. Hopefully, with some water, it would go away.

Teach glances down at you, blinking before replying, “Second, as well!” He sends you a grin, which you return with one of your own, albeit smaller. He stops walking, and you realize that you’re at the galley, the room you had sauntered by not even fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m gonna be in here if you want to join me.” He explains, opening the door for good measure and so you can get a good look at where they serve food. The galley is vast, spacious, with tables and chairs scattered throughout the room for the crew to sit down and eat. Portholes fill the room with the sun’s beams of light. You notice a few men who aren’t too hungover enjoying a warm meal, knowing that they’d have to work sooner or later and savoring the free time they had.

The smell of food is heavy and impossible to miss as you step inside with Teach, who walks over to a familiar individual, that bright orange hat on his head. You linger behind, still too caught up in the heavenly smell to really care about much else in the room. It wasn’t until now that you realized how hungry you were.

After admiring the area, you return to reality, and then you are approaching the table where there is an enormous food pile and the man with a black hole for a stomach. Ace’s head swivels to see who is walking over to him, and when he sees you, he smiles in greeting, his mouth so full of food he looks like a hamster. It prompts you to raise an eyebrow in amusement as you come within earshot, a hint of a smile on your face.

“Good morning to you, commander.” You address him with a nod, fighting back a laugh at his reply, which is muffled by the food he is currently chewing. He tilts his head to the side, eyes trained on you as he finally swallows and speaks clearly.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know.” He says, his head still in that tilted position. Some of his hair falls into his eyes, and that’s when he rights his head again. You, on the other hand, do what he had been doing seconds ago.

“But… you’re the commander?” Eyebrows pinched together, you lock eyes with his, having been a bit busy gazing around while he had a mouth full of food.

Ace shrugs. “And as your commander, I’m telling you to drop the title. We’re all brothers here.”

Well… That was nice of him.

You smile gratefully, glad that you didn’t have to address him in such a formal manner. It just wasn’t like you, and it was good to see that it wasn’t like him either. Back on your ship, you told people to drop the ’captain’ thing. Your name was ’(name)’, and that was that, although here that name didn’t exist.

Taking a seat in front of him, you notice Teach has acquired his own plate of food. You look at him, and when he points in the direction of the cooks, you nod in understanding, rising from your spot.

Crossing the room isn’t bad, but after being tense for such a long while, it was easy for you to push yourself back into that way of thinking. Clenching and unclenching your hands, you scan the room, eyes bouncing off each table.

It was only when you were in front of the cook and he was serving you your breakfast that you relaxed slightly. Thanking the man, you returned to the table. Other people had joined, speaking animatedly with each other. In your hands, you carried a tray with meat and a few vegetables, along with an apple as dessert. You tossed the apple into the air, catching it as you walked.

Setting your plate on the wooden surface so you could sit, you chanced a look at the men sitting at the table, all sharing thoughts and conversing loudly. Ease coursed through you, the rigidness that had snuck into your shoulders again disappearing as you let your weight fall onto the chair.

And fall it did.

You gasp as you are knocked to the floor, limbs flailing as you try catching yourself, but it is too late. The chair crashes with a resounding THUNK, your head swiftly following and smacking against the wooden floor. Pain blossoms in the back of your head, and as you look up, you see two people looming over you. Their eyes are shining with mirth, and then you recognize one of them.

Everything has gone silent in the galley, and a second later you hear the sound of laughter break free through the room, including the two people still staring down at you.

“And a fine morning to you, (fake name)!” Haruta yells over the noise, holding his stomach as he high fives what could only be one of his men. He too is guffawing at you, making you roll your eyes. It wasn’t enough to fight the blush rising in your cheeks, though.

Annoyed, you roll and push yourself to your feet. “Ha, ha.” Shaking your head, you dust yourself off, eyes searching the floor for your chair, and that’s when you notice the missing leg. Eyebrows furrowing, your eyes snap to the shorty, pointing to your seat accusingly. He makes a funny face, shrugging his shoulder and looking to Ace for help. You ignore the raven-haired man, choosing to respond Haruta’s previous comment instead.

“Good morning to you too, squirt.” You mumble, rolling your eyes again. People are still chuckling at what had happened.

You grab the broken chair leg with one quick move, holding it in your hand and scanning it. It had been weakened, that was for sure, but how? You had turned away for what… five minutes? Bringing it closer to your face, you detect the scorch marks.

“Really?” You dead-pan as your eyes roll at your oh, so great commander, who is looking too smug for his own good. Ace tips his hat in your direction, high-fiving Haruta, who had walked up to his partner in crime to celebrate his accomplishment.

“Yeah, really funny,” You scoff, eyes sweeping the area for another seat. When you find one, you grab it and kick your previous one away, replacing it with your new one. Carefully, you sit down, making sure you don’t end up with a second bruise, much to the amusement of the rest.

After a minute or two, everyone is back to eating, and you’re back to glaring daggers at the two men. Haruta leans on Ace’s shoulder, his other hand resting on his hip.

“Welcome to the crew, (fake name).” He says, snickering when he finishes his sentence. His snickering abruptly stops when, suddenly, someone bursts into the room screaming. The door is thrown open with so much force that it smacks the wall and bounces off it, nearly socking the newcomer in the face, who you recognize as the fourth division commander.

You see from the corner of your eyes as Haruta’s mouth falls open, a reluctant laugh slipping past his lips as he gawks. He manages a meek ’no way’, and you spare him a glance, then return your gaze to Thatch as he runs inside the galley, holding a pink garment and laughing in fear and mischief. Thatch hands it to a man sitting in the corner, and you watch as the man hesitantly takes the article of clothing. Then, he spins around and heads in another direction, this time pulling out what you can see is a purple shirt.

Okay, so… he stole someone’s clothing. But why? Unease roils in your stomach. Being pranked was one thing, but this made you anxious. What if they did this to you? You could tell them to bugger off with this sort of thing, but if they didn’t listen, you would be in a hell lot of-

Bird.

And… Izo.

Bird. Izo?

Now you saw why.

“Pfffft-!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, still sworn to semi-silence, disbelief written all over your face. Fortunately, you weren’t the only one having trouble accepting the sight in front of you as reality.

“M-Ma-” Ace cleared his throat, laughter sneaking its way into his sentence, “Marco?!”

Said man reacted to his name with a twitch of his brow. He points a finger at the raven-haired man. “Not. A word.” He growls, teeth grinding together, and all Thatch can do is run around, seeking for protection from the man covered in feathers. And flour. Few would dare to face the first and sixteenth division commanders, though. Very few.

Speaking of, Izo marching to Thatch with all the confidence in the world despite having several doodles covering his face and wearing another less stylish kimono. This one doesn’t look as silky or fancy as the one the man with the pompadour dropped off with the other man, still sitting in the corner, cowering in fear.

He pulls the kimono free and lays it on the table, booking it out of the galley a second later.

“Thatch, where in the hell is it?!” Izo howls, hands shooting forward to grab his foulard. The man in question stops, laughing nervously, his hands coming up to defend himself and shrugging his shoulders before his eyes catch the pink kimono sitting on the table, unsupervised.

“Traitor!” Thatch yells after the man. Izo follows his line of sight, and when he locates his kimono, sighs out of relief.

Izo, done with Thatch, whirls and speed walks to his clothing, snatching it from the table. He’s sending anyone and everyone glares as he makes his exit.

Now, all there is is the angry bird blocking the exit.

You bring your apple to your mouth, halting to say: “Well, how about them apples.” And proceed by taking a bite from it to reinforce your statement.

Ace faces you, eyes narrowing your way. “Was that a pun?” People around you turn to you, curious and also slightly vexed.

“Maybe…”

“Don’t.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, shrouded by the obvious yet slight irritation. You place a hand over your heart dramatically, blinking your eyes at him.

“You wound me.” You shake your head, (eye colour) orbs sliding shut. “It’s a good thing I’ve got thick skin.” _Crunch_. Another bite follows as you stare at him with a raised eyebrow to say ’did you get that one?’.  Ace groans, throwing his head back and acting like he is being tortured.

“Stop it with the puns!” Hisses Haruta, who is both delighted and exasperated, “We already have Thatch for that!”

“Are you saying that you don’t appreciate my jokes?” Hissing, you shake your hand as if you’ve been burned, “That one struck a ’cored’ in me.”

Another groan, “What’s with you?” Ace demands.

“Revenge,” You retort, glaring at them both, and say nothing else because your throat is begging you to shut up with how pained it was. And, to remind you that it is still there, the bruise on the back of your head throbs painfully, making you wince.

“THATCH!” Is all you hear from the first commander as he hunts down the fleeing man, flour and feathers falling off him as he gives chase. There goes the bird, you supposed.

And now that you thought about it, was it Thatch who put the unconscious men in such positions outside? It wouldn’t surprise you.

After that dramatic scene, everyone gradually went back to consuming their food, finishing their meals so they could get to work on the ship. You yourself had been assigned chores by Ace, who had sent you suspicious glances as you joyfully munched on your apple, that same smug look that he had now on your face.

“You have some cleaning to do on the main deck.” He explains, fixing the hat on the top of his head. You nod, not really liking the job at all. It seems you’re a swabby here. You accept it either way, glad to be doing something other than avoiding people.

You head up to your room to freshen up, and that’s when the throbbing and stinging and burning kicks in. The sensation is almost unbearable, but you’ve handled worse.

“Alright,” You begin shakily, holding your side. The wound was pulsing, sending ripples of discomfort through your limbs. It had been healing well, but you had to sit down, or stop moving, or take a couple minutes just to able to breathe through the pain at times. Luckily, that annoying limp had faded away, and you could drift from one place to another much faster than before. “Let’s get this thing checked out again.”

You are in the process of removing your jacket, shirt and bandages when you hear knocking that cuts the silence like a knife. Tensing up, you quickly twirl around, your body moving on its own as you slam the door shut just as it is being opened. The sound echoes in the room like thunder in a cold night, and as you lean your weight against the door, you hear the panic in the owner’s voice.

“(fake name)?! You all right?!” Ace calls from outside, the wood separating the two of you stifling his voice. You’re not listening though. Instead, you are staring at the floor with wide, terrified eyes, an arm covering your chest. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage so violently it feels like the bones will snap like twigs.

Pain…. So much pain….

You have to bite your knuckles to stop yourself from whimpering, clenched shut as you inhale shakily. Peeling yourself off of the oak surface, you hide the nasty gash with your left hand and press the one that wasn’t busy against the door.

“I’m fine.” You say with your voice back to its deep façade. It was getting hard to keep the tremors away, though. Way too hard.

“You don’t sound okay.” A light push underneath your hand. Ace is trying to open the door. You muster up the strength to shove it back. “(fake name).”

“Just wait!” You insist, voice close to cracking from the strain. Stepping away from the exit, you rush to your discarded clothing and pick the bandages off the floor. Hurriedly, you pull them on, the clip to hold it all in place slipping from your grasp and hitting the floor with a soft but ringing clink.

He’s saying your name again. The door clicks open. You barely have your shirt on.

Shit, shit- _hurry!_

Somehow fastening the last button up, you face your commander with anger in your eyes. There is a long stretch of silence in the room, and after a minute or two, you break it with your voice.

“I said: I’m fine.” You’re glaring at him. You’re staring him down like you did to anyone who tried approaching you when you first awoke. He was undeterred, though. In fact, he’s moving, face scrunched up in concern as he crosses the threshold. You retreat, biting your lip anxiously. And then:

“You’re bleeding!” He blurts, his eyes practically dripping with worry. Surprised, you lift your arm, touching your side even though you can already see the crimson that had seeped into the fabric of your shirt. There’s blood on your fingers when you pull them away.

God damn it all. How in the hell..?

You mull over the last minute, realizing what you’d done to cause such damage. Rubbing your eyes with the hand that isn’t bloody, you sigh, annoyed that it hadn’t crossed your mind sooner. The impact had stretched your right, injured side, tearing whatever had healed.

Ace is about to say something else when you grab your jacket and throw it on, cloaking your frame and casting him another look that forces him to close his mouth. You weren’t going to let him see just how much the pain was affecting you, a cold sweat making the back of your neck damp and the hair stick to the skin uncomfortably. Your arm is barely holding the bandages up. Where is that blasted clip?

You search the floor for the missing, crucial, necessary item, and see that it is right in front of him. Bending down to grab it was not an option. It would draw his attention away from you. He would ask.

Clearing your throat, you schooled your features, fighting to keep your voice level. “I’m fine.” Gesturing to yourself with a flourish, you added, “See?” Your throat burned. He had to leave now.

“(fake name), I know for a fact-” Ace tried forming a new sentence, the words full of concern before another voice, just outside the room, interrupted him. It originated from the deck, where you could hear others beginning to assemble.

“MARINES!”

...

..

.

Of _course_.

The both of you paused, turning to the exit to confirm what you had just heard.

You took it as your chance.

You reached into your jacket for a brief moment, jogged past an incredulous Ace, and exited the room, sparing the shirtless man one last glance. You hoped that you made your apology clear with your face as you headed over to where the crowd was gathering, men hurrying to and fro as they got things in order. Men who had been nursing their hangover were dragging their feet as they moved along.

The clip is still not on. In your haste, you’d stuffed the end of the gauze into the rest, but it was not tight enough. It didn’t conceal your chest like it had before. It just wasn’t enough.

You take a deep, stabilizing breath, hearing footsteps behind you but not bothering to check who it is. You’re walking as fast as you can down the stairs surrounding the main deck to meet with the rest of your division. There are orders being barked by the commanders as men scurry around, preparing the ship. It wasn’t like your ship, though. Here, things were calmer. They were routine. Back on your ship, when Marines showed up, it sent you into a state of no frolicking, no fooling around, just fight, fight, order, fight.

“Second division will take care of the ship.” You overhear a conversation, and you almost scream right then and there. It was like somebody, somewhere, wanted to see you suffer until you die.

 _Fine, they want to dance? Then let’s._ You think as your eyes survey the sea, spotting the marine ship not too far away. The sails are the same; there is the word ’MARINE’ printed on them to make it clear that they weren’t just a band of idiots.

But wait. They were a band of idiots.

After all, they’re going to mess with Whitebeard’s crew. And his crew is a force to reckon with. Heaving a sigh, you look on as the men around you prepare the ship, working double time because of their tardiness before. You find your division manning the cannons, young men running back and forth with kegs of gunpowder in their arms-

_Gunpowder._

Oh, how you'd missed it.

And your guns. And your swords.

Thankfully, you still had that small dagger you used to cut your hair, and those who knew you knew you for your ability with weapons. Maybe not so much with the little tool in your pocket (you preferred guns), but still. You knew how to hold your ground with just a small knife.

Fishing it out of your back pocket, you twirl it in your hand to test its weight. It feels familiar and almost comforting, but also like a boulder in your hands. The still fresh, gaping cuts from that day hadn’t healed and wouldn’t heal for a very long time. You stare down at the weapon in your hand, disheartened, and look up to see that the marine ship hadn’t relented yet. Its course was still one and the same. Mentally, you sighed in exhaustion, pocketing the knife again and marching over to where your division is. Commanders chatting not too far away, and some you don’t recognize, but you don’t let that bother you right now.

Hauling a powder barrel off the floor with great care (perhaps too much), you carry it over to a cannon that has yet to be ready. Two men there thank you graciously, both in different ways, and then you’re off again. You keep a keen eye on the enemy, and when both ships are side by side, one belittling the other, that is when you feel the rumble of cannon fire. The sound of wood splitting and snapping has you wincing, even though the ship you were currently boarding wasn’t the one on the receiving end of the attack. Leaning your torso over the railing, you watch as the Marines bring their vessel closer in an attempt to relay their own shots at the Moby Dick. From your location, you can see the higher-ups aggressively shouting orders, the other men scrambling to complete the tasks thrown at them.

Then, you notice men swinging down from ropes onto the opponent’s ship, where they land with heavy thumps and unleash all hell. You yourself would’ve joined them if it weren’t for the pain rendering you almost immobile and fear in the back of your mind telling you- begging you to hide.

Unfortunately, your body chose to become unresponsive, glued to the beam separating you from the depths of the ocean, where there are chunks of wood floating about. Seeing the wood and the planks dredged up memories that you knew you were probably never going to be able to bury. Then you hear hollering. Snapping out of your haze, you blink several times to clear your vision, which had somehow ended up extremely blurry.

Then you locate him.

Judging by his position on the railing, you can deduce that Ace had leaped across the gap. He hops off, flames rising from his body and causing unrepairable damage to the other vessel in mere seconds. The tattoo on his back seems to glow with vigor.

He moves, at ease, like this was nothing but a game to him. Confidence radiates from him in waves as he turns to a marine and decks him across the jaw. The man falls and remains unmoving, and it doesn’t surprise you at all.

Wiping your eyes, you watch for another minute, torn between joining the fight and running. It takes more than another minute to decide, and when you do, you sigh. Of course, you had to join them. You were in their division, after all.

Bracing yourself, you grab one of the ropes that had been sent back, leaping onto the railing and pushing your body off. Alarm bells ring in your head as the wound on your side throbs, blood leaking from the gash quicker than before. Really, you should’ve have given these things more thought.

When you’re close enough, you let go, soaring through the air with a small yelp. You land heavily, rolling to dissipate the force of the impact, and finish the move on your knees. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, you stand. There are people everywhere you look, swords clashing and marines falling. Nobody in your division has died yet.

A sword swoops in from your right, and you dodge, pulling your weapon free from its confines. The marine is a tall, burly man, much bigger than you, and with one glance to your dagger you burst into action and run away.

 _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,_ I **can't** _-_

Thoughts blur into an incoherent mess, people are yelling, and you’re still running. You know you’re being chased, and that thought wills you to move faster.

Why did I do this?

You feel sick. Your stomach is doing backflips and all you can do is flee, hoping to escape the feeling of being weak but knowing that you can’t. It’s overwhelming, and your vision spins.

A hand grabs your shoulder, and it takes all your strength not to scream in terror. Someone is yelling; you realize that they’re talking to you.

“…What are… Okay…?” The words are chopped up, and the man is unable to finish his sentence because he is parrying an attack from his left. It gives you the time to turn and speed away. Cannon fire shakes the ship, the vibrations travel up your feet and into your head, making the dizziness already impairing you even worse. Stumbling, you fall to the floor, knees scraping against the wood. The pain that blooms there is nothing compared to what you’re feeling on your side. It feels like hot lava is being poured down your side while something scrapes at the skin.

It’s awful. It is god awful and all you can do is crawl and cover your head because you’re scared and you don’t know what else to do. The knife lies forgotten somewhere, but you’re in too much panic to care. Your back hits a wall.

You see the people closing in on you. Everyone is a mix of blue, white, and red and you know you’re royally fucked if you don’t do something, but you can’t. You don’t want to.

Somebody hauls you off your feet and any semblance of composure is gone as you attempt to kick and punch the person. Somehow, you don’t scream, even though it physically hurts you not to let it all out with one good wail.

Your fist collides with a shoulder, the man holding it letting go. Someone yelps, but it’s not until you hear water splashing that you are shoved back into reality.

You didn’t know who it was, but even so, the need to check who it was overcomes any other thought. Staring into the water, you see an orange hat floating among the wreckage.

_Oh, my **God**._

Mouth agape, you stare into the water, the panic doubling and making your head feel almost fuzzy. Your cranium feels congested as if your brain is too big, and you heave.

You’d pushed him. You’d pushed Ace. And devil fruit users can’t swim. They can’t fucking swim.

Another hand forces you around, and a fist makes contact with your cheek. The impact sends your head lolling to the side, but somehow, it grounds you. Bringing your leg up, you kick your attacker in the chest and proceed by lifting your body onto the railing and plunging into the water. Your back breaks the surface, and that same chill you felt in the past returns full force. You float, (eye colour) eyes staring up at the vast sky.

Things move in slow motion. Bodies drop into the water, and they too float along with you. The way everything sways gently is soothing, but you don't let it distract you.

Your head swivels in several directions, and it feels like you're moving in slow motion. You sink down lower, where there are no bodies or debris floating about blocking your vision, and you spot him. He is just a ways off, and your panic is somewhat alleviated.

He’s thrashing wildly, bubbles rising up from his throat as he cries for help. His arms are reaching up toward the sky as if some magical being would drop down and pull him out of the water. Which you supposed was true, but by no means were you magical.

Blinking, you swim towards him, hands stretched out in front of you. There is an annoying ringing in your ears, along with the pounding of your heart, but you don’t let it shake your focus.

You wrap your arms around his middle once you are close enough, and, despite your situation, you note the warmth that envelops you. In this cold abyss, he still exudes heat.

Ace’s body twitches when you tug him close to your chest, the fight in him long gone. His eyes are closed, mouth hanging open, and when you begin kicking your legs, they open. You expect them to fill with rage. You expect him to shove you away out of anger but he hangs limply as you break the surface of the water. A rush of air fills your lungs and your eyes snap open. You’re crushing his body against yours, struggling to keep the both of you afloat. You grab his chin and rest it on your shoulder so he can breathe. Ace’s head rests against your neck, his hair pasted to his face and neck.

You use one arm to bring your body closer to the Moby Dick. The pain has returned, so you direct your thoughts to other things. Things like not dying or guilt. Things like the body you’re holding in your arms.

_This guy is so fucking heavy._

The thought is so silly you can’t help but let out a watery chuckle. It's desperate and wheezy, but you don't care.

Ace is heavy, and he’s going to die because of you.

A rope dangles in front of your face, and you grasp it, using your free arm to draw your body from the water. Your hips nearly make it out of the water when your arm gives out, sending you back into the cold depths of the ocean. You try again, ultimately failing and sinking deeper instead. Inhaling, you grab Ace’s chin and hold it above the water with numb hands, legs still thrusting frantically but tiring quickly. You search his face for something, anything, that might show that he is alive, but he is still.

You push his hair away from his forehead to get a better look, lips trembling as you breathe hard. You try to focus on anything that isn't dying. Your eyes zero in on his face, which you hold above the surface with a hand. His face has gone pale, and his lips have gone purple. The usual red tint of his cheeks is replaced with a lack of colour that threatens to drag you deeper into a panic attack. Brushing more hair back, you take in the feel of his clammy, _cold_ , _**dead** _ skin.

You want to drop him. It's an urge that has dug its roots deep into your mind. The feeling of his body is unbearable and another reminder of how you had failed your friends. 

You're entertaining the idea when you hear a voice rise over the sound of water crashing around you.

“Oi!! Grab the damn rope!”

Immediately, your head whips in the direction of the voice, spotting the people that are waving at you and motioning to the rope. Adjusting your hold on the goddamn corpse so that your arm is coiled around its middle again, you focus on the rope.

 _Third time’s the charm._ You think miserably.

Your hand seizes the rope again, the material digging into the sore skin, and you try one more time. Teeth worry your bottom lip as your muscles scream in agony. The weight is making it near impossible to drag yourself out of the water, but thankfully you don’t have to do much. Men and nurses tug on the rope with all their might, successfully freeing you from the ocean’s grip. You’re shivering, and the warmth you had felt in Ace’s body is completely gone.

You’re gasping by the time you slump onto the floor, coughing and blinking the salt out of your eyes. Water clings to your clothing, sucking the heat from your limbs, but you don’t care. You don’t give a single fuck.

Arms still encasing Ace, you bury your face in the top of his head, praying to whatever deity watching over you that he lives. You don't want to let go. You don't want him to leave. However, you don’t fight when he is gently taken away from you. You are too exhausted, mentally and physically, to put up a fight. 

You lie back, content with dying right then and there. Your vision is fading anyway, so you might as well speed up the process.

By some miracle or curse, though, you don't pass out until you see Marco, who looks like a cheap version of an angel with all the feathers covering his body. An angel that is also covered in flour. He is murmuring something, but you don't hear it. You feel hands on you, grabbing your jacket and tugging it shut, but even that feels distant. Like a soft tingle. Tired, you allow your eyelids to meet, and darkness envelops you a second later.

_At least I got that bath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you've finished the chapter. Did you enjoy it? I tried throwing humor in there because lord knows I need more of that in my life. Now, you may be wondering: what the hell happened to you? Well, I'll keep it short because it's not something I like to look back on but anyways-- 
> 
> Also can we talk about this chapter?  
> Like wow. Way to change the mood, author.  
> Also, thank you so much for 100 kudos??? Like, honestly I remember the story having around twenty and feeling so darn happy and now we're at 100 and I'm just in awe lol. Thank you guys for all your sweet comments and support. It helped me so much like you don't even know. I'd hug all of you if I could, but I guess I'll stick to thanking you with chapters :')


	8. Solace Amidst Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wish someone would set you on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup people, it's me again. I'm back with another cannonball of overwhelming panic and angst. Your panic, that is to say... as the main character.. in this story. ...
> 
> Moving on.
> 
> This was supposed to be like... 20 pages, but I decided to cut it short to spare my spine the pain. This one was a tough one, especially since I had to come up with a damn name for a character and UgH I hate doing that. Aside from that, I had a lot of fun with the main character. I've thrown in there some new behaviour/tendencies, so let's see if you can notice them. I didn't know if I wanted to make them overly obvious or a thing you really needed to look for, but... meh. I did what I did, so now it's just about hoping that it's not a mess.
> 
> Uh.. what else... I don't know. The english and mistakes you see here are probably the same thing you've seen from me for the entirety of the story, but I've been working on those. I've actually gotten a bit better at using adverbs and not making phrases cumbersome. It's late here and my eye has turned red, so I'll edit this when I'm rested. For now, please enjoy and forgive me for my word vomit. I sincerely tried to make this as good as my brain will allow, but I can only ever go so far lmao.
> 
> To all the people that have been waiting patiently, this one's for you. <3

After he'd satiated his hunger with a ’normal’ sized breakfast, Ace decided that it was best to check on you. He felt it necessary after Haruta’s little joke, seeing as the collision had been hard enough to attract everybody’s attention. The man grinned to himself, a small bounce in his gait as he bounded up the stairs. It had been funny, and he had assisted, but he still couldn’t help feel guilty. Those injuries of yours were healing, that much was apparent, but they were still there.

He remembers somebody telling him that you absolutely refused to see one of the nurses, and people were both troubled and bemused. Your decision to evade everyone raised a few eyebrows, mainly Thatch’s, and people wondered if you were planning to murder one of them. Ace huffed to himself, indignant but amused. They thought that because of his numerous tries at defeating Whitebeard.

Ace stopped when someone marched up to him, explaining how the cooks are, again, pissed at him for pretty much emptying the kitchen. He hears him out, because this is one of his brothers, but doesn’t listen. Then, with a series of nods and agreements, he sheepishly promises to avoid repeating the same mistake. Everyone will tell a different tale after restocking supplies, though.

In the end, without meaning to, he dwells on you and your voice.

When he’d first seen you, he’d scanned you up and down, wondering what a person like you was doing here. You were so sneaky, quiet, scared, doubtful, and so… well, you. It confused the hell out of him, but then he approached you and he saw that you forced your noiselessness. The act you were putting up wasn’t who you were in another time.

Ace ponders over this some more, eyebrows furrowed as he rounds another corner. He’d visited Marco, who had vehemently denied him entrance to his room. He wants to complain, but out of concern. The raven-haired man chooses not to, mind unraveling another thought of your voice.

It was… different, like you. Picking up on the things you said was hard sometimes, since you kept the tone of your voice so hushed. Ace noted the deepness that was there despite how light it had been when he first spoke to you. Perhaps you were shy? But then, you’d glared at everyone at first, so he doubted it was a matter of being timid. He didn’t hate it, of course! Again, it was different, not unpleasant.

The lambent sun rays were a familiar feeling on his back as he stepped outside, unaffected by the heat. He adjusted the hat on his head, and with a quick exhale, he set off to find that storage room you’d camped in. You’d chosen to remain holed up in that room above deck, and although it was high time you moved out, he didn’t force you. Waking up on a stranger’s ship, injured and disoriented wasn’t fun, and he knew first-hand how difficult it could be to join the crew.

Other men aboard the ship greeted him with friendly gestures, ones he returned. Ace smiled, amused, when complaints about the unforgiving heat reached his ears. The people fanning their reddened faces noticed how free and careless he appeared, and sent a few teasing jibes his way on how lucky he was. His smile widened at those.

When he finally stood in front of the door, he thwacked the door with his fist. He waited a couple seconds for a reply, but… nothing. Ace turned the knob and lightly pushed the door, your name working its way up his throat when the door slammed shut in his face, nearly smacking his nose. Eyebrows arched, he blinks in surprise and shakes his head to clear it.

“(Fake name)? You all right?!” He hollers worriedly. The silence returns as the resident of the room muffle their protests with a fist, unbeknownst to him. Ace presses his palm to the wood, listening for your reply. It comes stifled by the door separating you two, but he can still hear the strain in your odd voice.

“You don’t sound okay.” Ace tries a second time, his once raised eyebrows furrowed underneath his hat. He hopes the force preventing him from opening the door gives, but it remains stubborn, to which he frowns. “(fake name)…”

You demand he waits. He does, but impatience wins and he pushes the door, this time without it coming back to hit him. His small joke on how you almost banged it against his face dies when he sees that glare he’d spotted so many times back on your face. It saddens him more than it should have, especially when an hour prior you were grinning and blurting infuriating puns.

You stand there, poised and with no hints of previous pain on your visage, but he knows better. With your eyes trained on him, he stops, and there’s this wide, terrified look in them that he wants to question. Darkness and light clash on your body, forming a strange mixture that he admires for a moment. If it had been anybody else, it would have intimidated them, but Ace has grown used to people attempting to craft an illusion of fortitude. Months of fighting for a reputation taught him so. Shrouded in darkness, you stare, while your eye glints viciously, pupil contracted to a small point that pierces his head.

“I said: I’m fine.” There’s weight on the last word, a weight that he wants to lug off you because he knows lying, but he doesn’t know why. He noticed the blood on your shirt, remembered your injuries, and immediate remorse swept over him. Did he do that? Was it because his fire had singed the chair?

…

..

“(fake name), I know for a fact-”

You throw on your jacket to put an end to the conversation so you can hide again, and Ace wants to stop you, but the marines show up and he’s alone.

He doesn’t miss the apology dancing in your eyes, and so he takes it as permission to speak to you afterwards. Pops had assigned him to take the next attack, anyway, since Thatch’s division did that last time and it was still suffering from it. Marines were on the move, the older man had explained, hence why numerous pirate ships had been sinking. He wondered if you’d been part of those, and if your captain survived. Probably not, his mind provided a second later as he exited the dark room, your single (eye colour) eye engraved in his mind.

Ace jogs up to you, but you don’t face him, which he doesn’t mind. You focus on the marines, your body rigid and tense as he walks up to a group of men and orders them to ready the cannons.

It’s throughout the fight that he yields to unease.

 Ace is busy knocking enemies to notice you, flames curling on all sides dangerously as he decks a man across the jaw, delivers a kick. He draws his arms back and directs his flames to the main mast, where they blacken and weaken the wood. With a crack, it relinquishes its desperate hold on the body of the ship and tumbles down, smashing another mast. It doesn’t move any further.

He migrates to a group of men from the second division when someone slaps a hand on his shoulder and pleads that he helps you. The man points in your direction, where a burly man swings a sword as he chases you. Your eyes are clamped shut as you flee, droplets of blood trailing after you and revealing your location to those in the vicinity.

Several men hound you as your knees buckle from the sudden jolt to the ship, and he springs into action. Ace shouts your name, but you ignore him as you crawl to the railing and shield your head. Your alerting behaviour urges him to hurry, and when he is close enough, he lands a blow on a man’s head with his forearm. The man reels back, and before anyone can edge closer to you, he lifts you off of the floor. Alarm bells ring and clang in his head as you thrash and hit him. Then he stumbles into the water.

 _Well, shit._ He thinks, hands shooting forward to cling to pieces of wood but failing. Ace sinks like a boulder, flailing and hoping for salvation.

It’s when he is near unconsciousness that two arms encase his waist, and when he sees it’s you, he doesn’t know what to feel. Ace’s hand itch, screaming at him, and he wants to push you for doing the same thing to him. He realizes with a start that you’re the one person that knows he’d toppled into the water, and his body tenses as much as the salt water will allow.

Ace’s anger wanes when he notices the effort fuelling each stroke, and with an internal sigh, he accepts that it wasn’t on purpose. Fear and doubt, his mind offers, and he agrees. You cradle him and are close to suffocating him, but that’s not what he concentrates on as you swim. With your eyes fixed on the surface of the water, you don’t perceive the hand that gently grips the bandages from underneath your shirt. Ace thumbs it for a short time, releases it, and succumbs to the exhaustion that clutches his bones.

(x)

It’s morning, and you don’t want to open your eyes.

The room is bright and the sun is shining in your eyes hidden by closed lids. Gulls squawk outside, rousing you from your haunted slumber and urging you to roll over. You cover your head with your pillow, tugging the sheets to your chin as your eyebrows furrow together. Your bed is surprisingly comfortable, and you take a second to relish how clean it smells. It cushions your sore body, and the warmth in your limbs is so delightful you grunt approvingly, the sound deadened because of your pillow.

After a minute or two, you pluck the pillow off, running your free hand through your hair. When you touch your neck, you freeze, and remember with a quiet sigh that you’d chopped it off. This had happened more than once while you paced your room. You’d card your fingers through your short tresses only to feel the skin of your neck. It’s not a bad feeling, per se, merely a little foreign, since it hadn’t been that long since the incident.

Shoving _those_ thoughts away, you search your brain for a reason to get up. Chores, possible orders, and revenge all came to mind, but none seemed to wake you fully. That sense of vengeance blazed inside you, lighting and bleeding adrenaline through your limbs. It was a constant feeling that made you think, plan, think. How could you leave this place? What was the fastest route? Where could you find the people that ended your journey as a captain?

There was none of that today. Today you wanted to take things easy for at least an hour.

Sighing, you turn in bed, blearily opening your eyes. The room is brighter than it was before, glaringly so, and it blinds you for a brief second. Rubbing your eyes, you rise to a sitting position achingly slow, muscles and bones creaking from lack of use. That continuous throbbing in your side stretches to your gut and retires to its usual spot, and you groan quietly. Pain blossoms in your cheek, but aside from that, you seem free from any other injuries. Whoever that man that punched you was had done so sloppily, so the hit wasn’t really as bad as it seemed.

You move your hands away, muscles complaining and eyes blinking. Your expression twists into a grimace when you wriggle your fingers and pain shoots up your hand. Examining the skin, you take note of the burns decorating your palm and fingers, and its colour alerts you. You’ve rubbed it raw, for sure, but how?

You spend some time contemplating this, picking at the skin of your hand, when a noise somewhere catches your attention. This only distracts you for a short while, though. The chance that somebody outside your room is walking by is nothing new. Pulling the sleeve of your white shirt back, you rotate your arm, spotting a couple other scratches. Those were there to begin with, though, so you don’t worry much.

Deciding that the sound isn’t worth exploring, for now, you finally survey your surroundings and halt. A white, flowy cloth dangles from the ceiling, caging you inside this tiny, unrecognizable space. It takes you a whole second to remember curtains weren’t there before, nor were there any cleaning supplies outside of that box you borrowed. There’s a pristine roll of bandages sitting on a small table nearby, with an alcohol bottle accompanying it. Shifting your gaze to the floor, you locate the gauze that you’d used before. It’s darker than the rest from use. Your heart clenches in your ribcage, and sweat begins to form at the back of your neck.

_It’s okay, (name). Everything’s going to be okay._

You tear your gaze away, faint panic worming its way around your brain but not fully festering. The smell that had filled you with so much ease now makes you sick, and fear pierces your consciousness as you come to a heart-wrenching conclusion. Instead of actually accepting as the truth though, you wrench the sheets snaring your feet, as they too felt like a trap.

The sight that greets you isn’t what you’d name likeable.

“Oh, no…” You whisper hoarsely, voice cracking with distress.

The same material you’d used to bind your chest secures your right calf. You grab it, jerking it a couple times to check if it’s actually there or if you’re hallucinating. When the pressure in your leg tightens, you stop, breathing quickening as you throw your legs over the edge of the bed. Pulling your shirt away from your chest, you peek down to see white enveloping your middle and understand why breathing was so tedious.  The pain is there but reduced to something that you’ve dealt with before. It’s the same amount of pain your shoulder housed when you stopped at that island to drink, prior the attack.

_They’d treated your wounds._

And that included the wound that’s been pestering you for the past week and a half- or was it two weeks? Who knows and who cares. It’s been long enough, and you need to leave. 

You want to stand up, but a certain ache in your side and now in your damn leg prevents said action. Just where did this injury come from? How did it happen? Had it happened during the fight? Could you even walk anymore? Numerous questions and none of them promised a good answer. It’s disconcerting, and it adds another block to the tower of everlasting terror.

You catch yourself just as you start hyperventilating; knowing that if you panic you’d injure yourself, and swallow a deep gulp of air. You sit, fully erect with your spine straightened as you stare ahead, denial brewing up a million excuses.

The fight, panic, and sudden bath in salt-water come flooding back, and you remember Marco crouched over you. He’d touched your jacket, hadn’t he? What had he done? Secured it shut, and then what? Marco had said something, a something that you missed because of how exhausted you were.

The noise comes back, a distant cling that finalizes that this… this predicament you’d crash-landed in was real. It sounds like a person is placing something light and metallic on a table.

Someone prowls closer to the curtains, footsteps close to soundless as they reach out and grasp the cloth. You hear them though, thanks to the paranoia and horror heightening your senses, and you stand.

You slink to the closest side of the room, eyes seeking a weapon, and mind and heart racing. The person yanks the curtains back, said material obstructing your view for the briefest moment before revealing…

A woman?

Both of you lock eyes, tense, silent and waiting for the other to speak. When things start getting awkward, she takes a quick glance down at the clipboard in her arms and smiles a little. She’s wearing that pink uniform that you’d picked out from crowds while wondering the ship. Her skirt is short, and the zipper that holds the dress together rests below her collarbone. The tights she sports are spotted with blotches that resemble a leopard’s fur. She has red hair that cascades down her back in waves and stops at the middle. Thin lips stretch into a grin when she sees your confusion, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Good morning, (fake name).” She says, merry as can be. You don’t reciprocate the affable gesture, afraid that your voice would shake because of your trepidation. The woman takes a couple steps forward and draws the curtains shut, her heels clicking in the otherwise mute room. You open your mouth and shut it, looking around.

_Is this even real?_

“My name is Cherry.” The woman, Cherry, adds. Without really meaning to, your eyes snap to her dark red hair, and she chuckles, “I know, I know. You’d think my parents gave it to me because of the hair, but nope.” You watch as she places her clipboard down on the table with the alcohol bottle. Cherry addresses you cordially, probably used to people looking like scared animals and cowering in the corner. Shuffling, you cast your gaze to the side, lost in thought. Should you talk? Is it even safe to talk?

 It takes a little bit, but you decide to speak up.

“…Where am I?” You murmur, slowly pacing back to the bed. Sticking to the wall is not the most efficient tactic, seeing as you have nothing to defend yourself with. Placing your right leg in front of you, you rest your weight on it. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. The wound appears superficial and nothing as major as your side. Cherry blinks at you, and then her mouth forms an 'o' in realization.

“Oh, right, you’ve been avoiding us like the plague.” The redhead pauses to laugh quietly, then clears her throat and briefly glances your way. It's as if laughing makes her professionalism cave. “You’re in the sick bay.” Cherry explains, grinning at you. She looks proud of the place, even if you can't see the rest of the room. 

Cherry plucks a pen out of a pocket sewed to her dress and begins writing down a few things. Meanwhile, you sit down stiffly, joints locked and set in case you need to book it out of the room. The bed feels like stone now, and the only sound you can hear is the scratching of pen on paper. Cherry mumbles a few things to herself and peers at you from behind red locks.

After another tense moment, she sticks the pen in her pocket and leans against the table. You look away and focus your attention on the curtain instead. Noticing your silence (who couldn't?), she looks at you, a wrinkle in her forehead that conveys her disquiet.

Shifting, she clears her throat once more before speaking quietly, as to not alarm you. "You can rest easy, (fake name)." Your eyes snap to hers before finding the curtains again. She looks mildly uncomfortable, teeth worrying her lip when she says, "I won't spill your secret."

“ _What_.”

Your head swivels to where she is standing, her clipboard tucked into the crook of her arm as she regards you. Her eyes hold no malice, none at all, but there is still an emotion there that you can't pinpoint.

The words keep coming, and you can’t stop them. You’re too afraid.

“What did you just say?” Rising, you square your shoulders, fists clenching and unclenching nervously. The need to dash is ever present, waiting, lurking within the darkest, most secluded recess of your brain. It begins small, but quickly corrupts any other thought rushing to the foreground of your mind. It’s overwhelming, and you clutch the area where your heart is thundering. Your heartbeat roars in your ears, and it’s deafening. You should have disappeared somewhere the second you awoke. You don’t want to deal with this right now. What happened to at least an hour of taking things easy?

And what happened to lowering your voice? Something in your mind remarks coolly, while another screams the word ’RUN’ at you. You choke down a groan and a whimper.

“(fake name), you’re okay.” Cherry begins gently when you start retracing your steps to the corner of the room, her attenuate frown worsening when you don't listen to her. Concerned, she curls her hands around your elbows and guides you to the bed, sitting you down and lingering so you don't move. She 

“You’re okay,” She reiterates, “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” Cherry leans closer to you and levels her body with yours when you clutch your hair and curl up. You want to cry, but a certain relief lights up inside you when you notice that she’s not calling you (name). That means that she doesn’t actually know who you really are. It means that, while you may have inadvertently revealed your gender, you’re still safe. The marines won’t look your way just yet.

You’re still not out of trouble though.

Separating yourself from the bed and the other woman, you hurry to the curtains and jerk them to the side. Beds line the walls, neatly done and clean from disuse. The room is empty save for you and Cherry, and you repeat this in your head several times. Your heart backtracks, and so does your mind, which you greatly appreciate. Closing the curtains again, you pivot to face the woman. She sits, waiting patiently for you to feel secure.

“…So…” You frown at how tremulous your voice sounds. “…You know…”

Cherry replies softly, “Well… yes. But that's only because I tended to your wounds.” She frowns at you and fiddles with the hem of her skirt. "I'm not the only one, either..."

“Well… _Great_.” Comes your blunt response, and you heave a long sigh, staring at the wall. Cherry smiles warmly, and you return a meek attempt at a grin. It doesn’t shine through, but the effort is there.

“It’s okay.” She repeats for the third time. “Now… for your medical form…” Puzzled, you tilt your head, eyebrows pinched together. _People keep medical forms here?_ Cherry motions you over, and you comply reluctantly.

“I would have asked you to do this sooner, but you’ve been shutting out everyone on the ship for the most part of your stay.” Your shoulders bunch up at that. “But it’s okay. I’ve dealt with much worse.” You send her a quizzical look, but she doesn’t elaborate. Cherry’s eyes bounce from the paper to you, once, and then she mutters a phrase you miss. The name ’Portgas…’ reaches your ears.

 _What’s he done?_ You muse, clearing your throat.

“What… what do I have to do?”

“Not much, really,” Cherry elucidates, grabbing the pen again and handing it to you with a grin, clearly relieved that you're not shying away from her. “Just write your name, if you’re taking any medications and what they are, allergies, previous and recent injuries… that sort of thing.”

“It’s nothing too bad,” She continues, and you twirl the pen in your hand. Not too bad, she says, but you’ve already encountered your first obstacle in this damn course.

_What name do I put? She knows that I’m not a man, but (fake name) is probably easy to see through… shit._

“Uh-huh…” You mutter, then write down your current identity. The name taunts you, and you move on before it can deter you.

“Make sure you write everything. Us nurses have it tough, and you make things easier if you’re honest.”

“Okay…”

And so that’s how you spent the next five minutes. You recalled everything that has happened since the incident. It’s not too time-consuming, and you have to admit that the silence is calming. The red-head hasn’t done anything too alarming —aside from almost giving you a heart attack before— but still, you don’t really trust her.

You remember the scratches, bruises, the dumb wound on your side, and…

“Cherry?” You suddenly whisper, and she cranes her neck to look at you over her shoulder. “What happened to my right leg?”

Cherry halts and peers at you wordlessly before she catches herself and answers your question. “I can’t say for sure since I wasn’t there and it’s obvious that you don’t know, but… I’m assuming you hurt while either running away or when you went to save Ace from the water.” _Ouch_.

“So you know…” Your voice is meek, and you feel a pang of hatred at yourself. Of course they know. Of- _fucking_ -course they know that the second division commander, a man vastly admired and appreciated, came close to dying because of some silly, eighteen-year-old girl.

“Everyone does.” She agrees sadly, “Some of the men in your division saw, and… it spread from there.”

“Of course it did.”

“…”

The tension, once dissolved, expands so much that you can feel it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up and the adrenaline kicks in. Shakily, you breathe in, wetting your dry lips with your tongue and blinking one, two, three times. With nothing else to say, you finish the form, dejected. You wish someone would set you on fire.

After completing your task, you stand on wobbly legs and give Cherry the paper. The woman thanks you, clips it with the pile she carried in, and curls a fist into the hem of her dress. She’s lost in her own space. You opt leaving is for the best; you want to be alone.

“(Fake name), wait,” Cherry says, and unlike all the times people have told you to wait, you do. You don’t run, despite what the demon howls at you.

“I came in here to check if you were awake -I’m glad that you are, by the way- but I also came to change the bandages on your leg.” You look at her, internally pleading to her to let you go. “We treated that wound outside of the sick bay, since it looked pretty bad, so…” Cherry pats the bed, tilting her head to the side, and you submit to her wishes with a grunt. She looks amused by that.

You plop down on the bed, scowl on your face and exuding anger directed at none other than your own being. Cherry doesn’t notice, and if she does, she doesn’t comment on it. Unraveling her work on your leg, she gathers the items she needs and sets to work. The wound is another diagonal gash that begins at the side of your knee and disappears at your ankle. It vanishes beneath her gauze, achingly slow, and Cherry clips it in place when done.

Words form at the tip of her tongue, and as she makes the move to talk, someone knocks on the sick bay’s door.

Eyes blowing wide, you tweak your leg from her working fingers and get to your feet.

“God _damn_ it—” You hiss, and point to the bandages. “I need those, like... _right_ now.”

“(Fake name), what you’re doing is, can and will be extremely damaging to your chest area-”

“I don’t _care_! I _need_ them right _**now**_.”

The door squeals open, echoing, reverberating and jumping in your skull. Your head snaps in the direction of the danger, legs straining and shoulders drawn back as you steady yourself. It’s quiet for an eternity, and then someone steps inside and…

“Cherry?” A female calls tentatively, and the red-head relaxes, rigidity drifting from her back and hands.

Cherry closes her eyes, exits the curtain-cage, and leaves you alone.

“We need you outside. Pops is drinking again and needs a good reminder… again.”

“When will he- nevermind, I’ll be there in a minute. Just gotta grab something first.”

Heels click you way, and you, vexed and beyond done with the world right now, wait for Cherry to bestow you what you want. She sticks her head inside the enclosure and surveys the room as if you’d somehow magically left. When she sees you, she extends a finger and jabs it where a roll of bandages sits at. Cherry furrows her brows at you worriedly, but says nothing else as she exits and finally ventures off to somewhere else. You’re scrambling to where your solace resides before she’s even outside. Tearing your dress shirt (new one, too) off, you immediately begin the process of binding your chest. After donning them for so long, exploring the ship without them was impossible. You felt bare… _unguarded_ ; it distracted you tremendously.

Raking your fingers through your hair, you bite your lip and think. Your source of peace, now pinned to your body, protects and conceals you and your most prominent fears, and you feel better. _You’re better._ Unfortunately, your long coat is nowhere in sight, so you assume that the nurses threw it out. It was beyond repair, with your less than professional sewing job steadily coming apart. It still hurt either way. You’d have to stop by a store and purchase a new one _if_ you do drop by an island.

It’s okay, though. Not like it really matters at this point. Who knows, maybe the entire ship knows by now and they were just putting up an act out of pity.

You fall back down on the bed, huffing when the mattress breaks your fall. With everything relatively back to normal on your person, you weigh up your options. Is it still okay to go outside after what happened? After what you _did_?

No, but you could go out there, find Ace, and apologize. It was worth a shot. Everything could be… corrected, if you just man -woman up?- a little and face him.

“He probably hates me…” You sigh, messing with the mattress. It makes a whomp sound when you tug it hard and let go. Ace would hate you, but what of Whitebeard? What would the man that spared your life say? He was the one to offer you a home here; what would he think? Would you be given he chance to even explain?

“What,” _Whomp_. “To do now…?” _Whomp_. Thoughts wander aimlessly, clashing and fighting for dominance. You don’t bother focusing.

Ace’s prank floats into your memory, and you falter, lips curling into a scowl. The bump on the back of your head throbs, signalling that yes, it is still there, and you sigh again. You can’t be mad at him for adding more hurt to your body, you want to, but there’s honestly no point. That _joke_ , compared to what _you_ did to _him_ , was minuscule. And it  _didn’t_ matter anymore because everyone is too busy scrutinizing the disaster you caused.

And, the best part of this whole thing was, you couldn’t leave. You had nowhere for you to escape and respire. No, you couldn’t run back to how it used to be. You couldn’t stare at the stars, or drift with the waves and breathe with them.  You couldn’t taste the liberty that engulfed you whenever you spread your arms and closed your eyes, the sea breeze whispering against your skin.

You couldn’t savour the saltiness of the water, or how it felt when you dipped your roughened fingers in the sand, or-

 _Drip_.

“…”

You drag your body off the bed, your heart, a boulder, weighing you down and making it unattainable to breathe. Then, with a final, terrified glance at the place you last sat, you cross the threshold.

(x)

“What will you do now?” Marco asks the raven-haired man, who grabs his hat and places it on the railing in front of him. Ace ruffles his hair and rubs the back of his neck, thinking. Everybody, for the most part, had recovered from the shock, accepting whatever explanation they heard first. You had pushed him on accident, or you’d attacked out of pure fear. Some said that you’d been a marine previously and had found the strength to turn back to your old ways. But people said a lot of things, and Ace knew the real story, so he didn’t believe anything he heard.

Ace puts the hat back on his head, thumbing the rim. It was a little bent, something that he could fix later, and smelled strongly of salt. He made sure to thank Namur for saving it.

“The nurses are still with him, right?” He asks instead of providing a proper answer. Marco shakes his head, nodding towards Cherry and the rest of the nurses flocking Pops. Ace sighs and nods back.

“I don’t know.” He admits, “I mean, it’s not like he did it on purpose.” Marco grunts, acknowledging his words. The phoenix man exhales and reclines back on his spot against the railing.

“He was terrified and acted out of fear. I don’t blame him.” Ace says, and he means it. He understood that after certain events, people were thrown off balance, and you were still recovering. You had a lot in your head, and Ace understood and related to that.

“Do you think he’ll talk to any of us again?” Marco wonders, eyes following a few clouds rolling along lazily.

“I hope.” Ace replies, silver eyes doing the same thing as the blond. “He seems like a fun guy to be around… just needs a little encouragement, is all.” He sighs and hauls his body onto the railing, his usual spot.

He’s not angered by your actions. That emotion was long forgotten when he saw how frantically you swam to the surface. Ace just wishes he could do _something_ to help you. The man wishes you’d let someone at least talk to you because you needed it, even if you didn't know that yourself.

Marco glances at him with an eyebrow arched and continues until Ace is so weirded out he comments on it.

“What?” Ace demands, thoroughly put off by the intense staring contest they were sharing. Marco’s eyes snap back to Pops, a small, close to unperceivable smile creeping onto his face.

“Nothing.”

(x)

Shockingly, you’d survived and somehow managed to drag yourself to the storage room- **_your_** room.

“Thank God,” You breathed as you closed the door. This time, you hadn’t managed to tiptoe your way around unnoticed, as you were wearing plain white and that revealed who and where you were. Even so, nobody had tried approaching you, which you were forever thankful for. People had definitely gawked as you made your way past them, but you'd avoided eye contact successfully, so it wasn't too nerve-wracking (it was).

The second division commander had also retired to another side of the ship, which was a definite bonus.

But now, you were back here.

It hadn’t changed. The storage room was still dark and gloomy, but perhaps that was your mood clouding your vision with pessimism. Those same barrels and crates, covered with a thin layer of dust, were still strewn throughout the room. Your bed, in the far right corner, remained untouched, the sheets hanging off the side.

Not what you would consider home, but at least you’d acquired a room free from all prying eyes. The prying, judging eyes filled with hatred and anger that glowered at you for what you did.

You shuddered, rubbing your arms in hopes of generating some heat. The temperature dropped, but it had been cold in this room, so you don’t care for the change. Blowing warm air into your palms, you pace and test how much you can move before your leg starts giving you shit.

It doesn’t hurt, even after a long while of cooling off your rattled nerves. This newfound fact lightens your mood, but only by so much, and for so long. You’re too preoccupied formulating a plan of action either way.

“What to do now?” You ponder feebly, the exact question that you’d tossed back and forth in the sick bay rematerializing.

There’s no bailing out of this dance, not with the current circumstances, so the best action to take is to join in and go with the flow. But _how_ could you do that? You, joining in means whole-heartedly admitting to your mistakes, which you’ve already done, and going with the flow means accepting any punishment that the commander and the captain have in mind.

You rub your eyes, exhausted but also sick of feeling tired for no reason.

Thatch might be your most optimal option. He’s jovial, has heard part of your story, and somewhat knows where you’re coming from. The man with the pompadour is the one person you can name that would actually listen.

“No, no he wouldn’t. Thatch and Ace are kind of brothers… they’ve known each other for I don’t even know how long…”

You scratch the happy-go-lucky guy off the list. Next…?

…

Maybe…  Marco? Portgas? Or perhaps the _captain_ **_himself_**?

A second shudder wracks your spine, and you freeze, unsure of how to proceed with your musings. You could go through with all these things, but… you weren’t _brave_ , not in the slightest.

Footsteps rumble past your room as you keep thinking and panicking, all until you’ve glued your body to the wall, arms splayed out at your sides. Your lungs struggle to keep up with the hectic rhythm of your inhalations, the bandages constricting most if not all movement. They dig into the skin, rubbing the skin until red blotches dot the area. You don’t care.

When silence looms above your head, you breathe, sputtering and keeling over. Burying your face in your palms, you bite back a broken whine. You’re so pathetic. It’s the plank-boat-raft adventure all over again and you hate it so fucking much.

This room sucks. The stupid whale ship sucks. You suck.

You unfurl, limbs hugging the wall so you don’t tumble down to the floor.

And instead of moping in this room for any longer, you rise, and march over to the door. You don’t know where you’re headed, but you know that remaining alone is like asking for the universe to batter you to death with stupid shit.

Clutching the doorknob, you turn it and throw the door open with so much force the air rushes by your ears. The sound is blown to bits by the bombshell in front of you.

“I thought I might find you here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you have a problem with any of the characters in the story, please let me know below. I'd like to know what y'all think of my dearest nurse Cherry. I struggled with that woman more than you know lmao.*
> 
> Also, another cliffhanger! Who do you think it is? It's pretty obvious, but I'd like to hear from you guys. And thanks for reading, buddies and pals. Your comments and support mean more than you can imagine.
> 
> ****Shoutout to jayeNay and ShadowsButNotDark for leaving some bomb reviews and helping me better the nurse character. You're too sweet :')****


	9. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First steps...
> 
> To forgiveness.
> 
> To acceptance.
> 
> And to a fuck ton of shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I'm super excited to be posting another chapter!
> 
> In this wild ride, you get to see more fire-fist! Yeaaa. I missed the sucker, to be honest with you.  
> I'm happy to announce that this is where I can finally declare FRIENDSHIP START, because it really does. Y'all finally climb a step and move to 'new amigos'. Isn't that exciting?! To me, it is lol.
> 
> Uh... other than that, I'm sorry for the tardiness. It's been more than a month, I know, but this semester is killer. In fact, I have a quiz tomorrow that I haven't started studying for... probably should do that lmao.
> 
> Also, thank you, everyone, for more than 20 kudos? When I posted chapter 8 I didn't think it would go up so much but it did?? I have to admit that the sheer number of kudos was... like... kind of crazy. Like wow. I was in shock at seeing the number rise so suddenly and so much lmao. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Enjoy, and... well, read on!

To say that you were appalled would be a terrible, laughable, eyebrow-lifting understatement. In fact, it would be such a minimization of what slithered up your spine you’d courageously and completely agree to make yourself feel and look a tiny bit better. It would be so awful you’d scoff, nonchalantly peek over your shoulder, and pretend that you were some other person. Which would be the most galling choice you could ever make because that means you’d have to whip out a new name, new identity, and plaster a moustache onto your face to avoid recognition.

_I thought I might find you here._

The way he uttered the words sent a shiver of pure, unadulterated terror and trepidation down your spine. His tone is light, breathy like a sigh, but you’re not fooled by it.

The fact that he’s here is not good news for you.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to make of his statement, so instead of trying to process the phrase, you stand there numbly. Your mouth is dry, your heart is sinking into your stomach, and you’re so frozen by fear you might as well die now. Sweat collects in your palms, which makes the doorknob slippery and the wood you’re gripping with your other hand feel strange. Placing a foot behind you, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat, appear calm, to have some semblance of… of something- anything that will prevent your imminent breakdown because he’s _here_.

Ace, the second division commander, peers down at you from underneath his hat. He looks just like he’d looked at breakfast, save for the remnants of food dotting his face and the wrapped up bicep. At the sight of the injury, you wilted, eyes befalling the floor for a brief moment. It doesn’t appear bad, hell, you’d crawled out with worse, but guilt still festers in your heart.

You realize after a number of seconds that all you’ve done is nothing but gaze up at him with wide eyes. Both at a loss of words, you wait for him to leave you be or start yelling. After another God awful moment, you realize that he’s expecting you to open your mouth and blurt… an apology, is what you’d expect. Perhaps he’s waiting for you to begin explaining yourself and begging. You’re entertaining the idea, have been for a little bit, but you thought you’d have to do that in front of the captain and not him.

Your heart, already pumping erratically from pondering over everything, lurches in your chest. Speaking to any of these people is the bloody last thing you want to do, goddamn it, and yet here he is.

Without noticing, you inch backward, mouth gaping and closing like a fish as you try to face your new dilemma. It’s worse than any marine you’ve encountered after the accident. It’s worse than having to walk the deck, with eyes drilling holes into the back of your head as you try to flee. It’s ten times more awful than anything that's happened because at the very least you’d had some thought back then, but now your mind is blank. Your mind has stopped computing and you won’t know what to do about it.

At the lack of a response, Ace’s frown -he’s frowning at you, fucking great- deepens. “(fake name)…” He steps closer when you move back again.

Meanwhile, your thoughts are bouncing back and forth inside your head seventy-two miles a minute. You can’t break the eye contact, can’t run away, can’t fight. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done and you can’t do jack shit about it.

When he takes another step closer, your panic settles down in the backseat and you spring into action. You have no idea what you’re doing, but you grip the door’s edge with both hands and use all your strength to close it. Having recovered some of it these past few weeks, the effects of your actions are striking. It whooshes past your head and ruffles your hair. Ace opens his mouth to stop you, but the view is quickly obstructed.

The door slams closed with a loud _BANG_ , finalizing the one-sided conversation and trapping you back in your cage. Your immediate instinct is to slink into the corner of the room and hide behind a barrel, but you want this door eternally secured. Pressing your palms into the wood, you put all your weight on it as you drop your head, eyes slipping shut in concentration. There can’t be another moment of doubt. Ace has most likely gone to get help so they can throw you off the ship and back into the ocean. You’re terrified, but you need to think of a way to escape, and panicking in a corner won’t-

“That hurt, (fake name).”

Gasping, your head snaps upwards, where you come face to face with the door. Your hands are trembling as you hold the wood, and you note with a start that his foot has prevented you from actually closing it. The boot peeking out from the side wriggles insignificantly, as if having your foot crushed by such force is a minor discomfort. With another jump, you reel back, hands raised as your eyes frantically search for a weapon.

Taking the loss of pressure as an invitation, Ace pries his foot free and enters the room, leaving the door gaping. You’re both back to gazing into each other’s eyes.

Needless to say, it takes a lot to resist the urge to hurl a barrel in his direction. If you weren’t so weak, you might’ve, but your strength isn't that extensive.

“I-I…” You croak, barely above a whisper and barely remembering what your voice is supposed to be like.

Again, he patiently anticipates the moment you speak, an action that you have trouble reading because you’re so afraid.

“I-” You try again, clearing your throat and forcing your voice to work with you, “Commander, back there, I didn’t mean to... to p-push you.” It’s shaky, but it seems your tone can still drop a couple notches. Not much, as you still need a lot of practice, but… good enough for now.

Surprisingly, Ace doesn’t lunge at you, nor does he break into a heated explanation of why you shouldn’t have gone on the marine ship if you were going to be so useless. He just… listens? Is he listening? Thinking? You don’t know. The hat is obscuring his face and shadowing his eyes, which seem to glow as he regards you. It almost intimidates you into shutting up, but now that you’ve started, the words keep tumbling on.

“I-I know devil fruit users can’t swim, and I just- I didn’t do it on purpose.” Your voice cracks while you’re stammering, and you screw your eyes shut, fist balled up at your sides. Your heart is pounding so loudly it might as well just be a drum now. It strikes your ribcage until you’re sure it’ll burst free and book it out of here.

“I’ve just had… problems, coping with a few- a few things and I’m-” You shake and lower your head, wringing your hands, rubbing your neck, shifting in your spot. Finally, you settle with gripping your sides until your nails dig into the skin, reddening it. Beneath the material of your shirt, your bandages bite into your torso. The feeling is easier to focus on. It’s better that than the sweltering shame bubbling up your throat.

When you can’t blurt anymore, you shake your head and finally close your mouth. This is the second time you’ve kind of opened up and honestly, you don’t remember it being so terrifying. With Thatch, well… you’d said what you had to, which was the bare minimum and a couple lies. Now, here, facing the man that you’d thrown overboard when he can’t swim, it’s even worse. The fear of these people tossing you aside because of what you’ve done is overwhelmingly powerful. It’s impossible to stay still and not pray that you’re not executed where you’re standing.

Footsteps thump your way, and the panic inside you swells, pleading that you run, but you don’t. You don’t because whatever’s coming your way, you probably deserve. You’re unsure of how things work around here but.. rules were rules, especially on a ship like this, and you had to stick by them.

When the sounds halt, you hold your breath, anxiety churning in your stomach. It feels like your stomach is receiving a constant flurry of blows at varying speeds and strengths. You’re cowering there, with blood rushing by your ears, unable to do a single thing.

It takes all your depleting energy to not jump through the roof when the second division commander places a hand on your shoulder. It's so shocking you flinch, a grimace twisting your features as you press your eyes shut. The hand on your shoulder doesn't fall away, nor does the man in front of you make any more moves.

With great reluctance, your eyes flutter open, and you slowly turn your head to face him again. Ace's features light up a little when you do, and you bite your lip.

"(fake name)," He starts softly, "I've already told you to drop the title." And then he _smiles._

He **_smiled_**.

Blinking in shock, you continue to gawk at him as if he's sprouted a second head. Ace laughs lightly at your reaction, and you blink again, slowly shoving his hand off your shoulder. He relents, stepping back and giving you room as you try and wrap your head around what happened.

"What-" You heave, sucking in a deep breath, " _What_?"

"What?" Ace parrots back, smile faltering as he regards you, confusion in his eyes.

"You're not- you're not mad?" You manage, breath laboured from trapping it in your lungs.

"No, (fake name), I'm really not." He replies, smiling sadly at you. There's a soft look in his eyes that you hadn't noticed before, too wound up in your own web of... of all sorts of emotions, really.

"But- but _why_?" You breathe, withdrawing another inch as you clutch your heart. What is this? Why is he lying to you? "I pushed you off the ship!" You flinch at the fact that you've raised your voice, making it strain at the effort, and reel everything back in. Much quieter and controlled, you mumble dejectedly, "I-I pushed you..."

"Well, punched would be more appropriate." He remarks smartly, and you scowl at him for making the guilt grow more. If the emotion had a physical form, you'd predict it to be about Whitebeard's size. To summarize, it would be way too fucking big. Seeing your face morph into one of frustration, he hastily continues. "But it's okay, because you immediately jumped into the water to get me!"

You still didn't believe anything. It was too good to be true. You're not supposed to receive such mercy, especially from one of your temporary higher-ups.

Turning away, you rake your hands through your mussed hair. It sticks up in odd ways, with one side flatter than the other, but you don't heed its messiness. This isn’t supposed to go down like this! You’re supposed to be reprimanded for your actions, not forgiven a day later! You almost _killed him!_

Unable to help yourself, you try changing his mind. He just can’t be serious, can he? "But-"

"(fake name)." His tone sends tingles of dread through your body.

Facing him once more, you listen to him avidly. Whatever he has to say, it might have something to do with whatever punishment you're going to shoulder for now.

Once again, Ace grasps your shoulders, eyes filled with such intense determination it penetrates your skull and petrifies you.

_"It wasn't your fault."_

His tone is so fierce, so powerful you just... _you just can't help but kind of believe him_. The words resonate deep in your mind, echoing and crowding your head to the point it feels congested. They hound whatever thoughts were plaguing your consciousness, chasing them out and beating them into nothing. They wash and drown every other memory, every other nightmare. You cling to his words, fighting with all your might to keep the eye contact as your brain repeats each and every syllable. Pressure builds up in your throat, and you swallow harshly, refusing to let tears stream down your cheeks.

Placing a foot behind you, you gently pry the hands off your shoulders and straighten your spine. You wipe your glassy eyes, a sheen of fresh tears gradually making it more and more difficult to see, but you're not as bothered as before. Then, you meet his smiling eyes again, feeling more refreshed than you had in weeks. The afternoon light outside hits his back, lighting him up and accentuating his back, shoulders, and legs as if they were truly glowing. But wait, it’s only afternoon? It’s so dark in here it’s difficult to keep track of time.

Craning your neck, you peer outside, where things didn't seem so daunting now, strangely enough.

Still, even if Ace had forgiven you, you still needed to apologize to Whitebeard. If he'd deemed you crazy for setting sail so young, you didn't want to even imagine what he thought of you now.

Noticing your glance, Ace speaks up again. "Feeling better now?"

You hadn't spotted it before, but tension had been built up in his shoulders and back. It fades with each inhalation, and you can’t avoid the need to let your shoulders droop in relief.

“…Yeah.” You nod slowly, attention fixed on the outside as you repeat, “Yeah.” You repeat with more strength. And then, you smile the biggest smile you’d ever plastered on your face. If it meant you could reassure him, then so be it.

Eyes flitting to his, you smile at _him._ He seems taken aback for a brief moment, but then he gladly returns the gesture.

“Well, I need to go back out there.” Ace says, his voice lighter than before, but you barely register the change. You can hear the waves rocking the ship, crashing against its hull. Seagulls squawk and give shrill shrieks among the clouds. Men's voices carry over the noise, laughter and yelling accompanying the strange murmur of the crowd. It's oddly soothing.

You nod to let him know you heard, and with another grin, he bounds outside. Before he crosses the threshold, though, he stops dead in his tracks and meets your eye again.

“It’s good to see you smiling, (fake name).”

Then he was gone.

With him out of sight, you keel over and cradle your head.

_He doesn’t know what he’s done, does he…_

(x)

“So, Ace, any progress?” Thatch and Haruta march right up to him, and Ace tears his gaze from his division. He’d been so focused on overlooking everything he didn’t even perceive the two newcomers.

“With what?” Ace asks innocently, and the two others share a facepalm at his cluelessness.

“With (fake name), stupid!” Haruta asserts, waving his hands wildly before crossing his arms. He grumbles something about him being dense, but Ace doesn’t hear.

Realization dawns on Ace’s features, and he blinks in surprise, “Oh!” And then, much more quietly, he adds, “Yeah. I talked to him.”

“ _And?_ ” They both prod impatiently, leaning closer, Haruta as much as he can, and Thatch looming over him. Having two faces at two different levels disorients him, so he takes a step back and holds out a hand.

“And,” He says, dropping the barrier, “He feels much better, I think. The guilt was eating him up really bad.”

Thatch and Haruta share a look, inquisitive glints in their eyes.

Then, Thatch speaks, “Hmm… sounds like somebody I know.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing!” Haruta responds, a saccharine smile splitting his lips. The shorter man glances at Thatch again and cackles mischievously.

Tired of watching the two giggle back and forth, Ace sighs, “If you guys aren’t going to ask anything else, then…” And then he walked away, leaving the two to run off to whatever they were going to do. They’d probably formulated another prank in the few seconds it took for him to spit out the information, so better to steer clear now.

Shaking his head, Ace greeted a man from his division, who had walked up to him to ask him a few things.

He was glad he hadn’t told them the last phrase he’d uttered.

_“It’s good to see you smiling, (fake name).”_

_It really is…_ He thought, grinning at something the man said, but for a different reason.

(x)

You didn’t know what you were doing, really.

After Ace left and you’d dropped to the floor in exhaustion, you’d spent a long time pondering over your conversation. You’d picked out pieces of dialogue that were worth remembering for later, ignoring your panic and fear.

You’d also pinpointed certain things that you’d been too caught up to questions, like the bandage around Ace’s bicep.

Now, that had crushed some of your strange serenity, but not much. You’d felt oddly calm after the ordeal, and after the past few events, you want to hang to it for as long as you’re able to.

It was important that you inquired him about it. Also on how you could be of help.

After all, it was the least you could do for him, especially since he’s forgiven you.

 _But_ , that’s not what you had at the top of your list of priorities. Sitting at the top of that mountain, was the urgent need to speak to the captain, Whitebeard.

You couldn’t grasp why you needed to talk to him so badly. It had only been a mere inkling of an idea before the conversation with Ace, but afterwards… there was nothing you could do to shake the damn thing off your back.

And so, you acted upon it.

_Tell me, God, why this woman has to be here, looking like she’s about to commit murder, at this time of the day._

Or tried to, really.

Cherry scribbled furiously on a paper, clipboard acting as a makeshift table as she mumbled to herself. She was blocking the entrance to the captain’s quarters, and after your stop by the sick bay, you’re kind of scared of her.

Not because she was part of this crew –everyone here was scary, so… there really was no difference now– but because the way she spoke to you back there…

You shuddered. Not good stuff.

In fact, she’d seemed _angry_ at you. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but after everything, you couldn’t be sure what a person’s mind was brewing.

Out of nowhere, her words flash before your eyes, taunting you.

_She won’t spill my secret, huh…_

It’s easier said than done, honestly, but you step out of your hiding spot behind a crate. Immediately after said action, her eyes snap upwards, where she spots you and surprisingly enough, greets you with a quick wave.

“Hey, (fake name),” She calls, motioning you over. You follow her order and stand in front of her. Clearing your throat, you keep your voice low.

“Cherry,” You greet, eying everyone surrounding you. Nobody pays the two of you any mind as they work. “Why are you here?” The question that had been poking your brain ghosts pasts your lips before you can restrain it. Your brow furrows.

Cherry sighs, eyes falling shut tiredly, “Pops… he’s too sick to be outside. It’s the second time this week.”

“ _Oh._ ” You mumble, put off by this new information. _Whitebeard_? ‘Too sick’ to be outside? What in the world was _this_? “Does that… does that mean I can’t come in?” You pry, stuffing your hands in your pockets. It’s then you note the hole that’s in one of them with an internal sigh.

Cherry exhales again, “Yeah.” Sensing your worry, she tries to smile, “But it’s nothing. He’ll be back on his feet soon enough.” Gently, she adds, _“…and drinking.”_ You feel a sympathetic pang at the way she mumbles the words. Clearly, she’s worried out of her mind.

Brushing it off, she stands tall again and shifts on her spot. “How are you feeling?”

The question, you admit, takes you off guard, especially after everything at the sick bay. “Oh… well, I’m feeling better.” You reply with a small shrug. Cherry’s lips form a quick smile at that.

“Good.” She pauses, words on the tip of her tongue. You can tell because she’s narrowing her eyes at you. When you lean back with a nervous cough, she reverts back to her normal face. “Oh. Sorry. I’ve just...” Cherry trails off, making vague gestures with her hands as you stare at her.

“Okay.” You say finally because there’s nothing else in your brain that could make this conversation any better.

Cherry sighs again, frustration knitting her eyebrows together as she stomps her foot on the floor. It’s nothing major, but it still makes you jump a little at the outburst.

“I’ve just…” She tries again, grunting when she can’t get the words out. After a minute or two, she manages to say what she wants to say. “You’ve seen Ace, right?” Okay, that’s… a bit of the blue, but you can answer.

Shoving your thoughts of escaping to the side, you answer in a small voice. “…Yeah?”

“Did he have a bandage around his shoulder?”

_We’re getting more specific. Okay._

“Yeah.” You respond with more confidence, the memory of the white material that binds your chest and his shoulder fresh in your mind.

At your immediate response, Cherry releases a huge sigh, stress breaking free from her shoulders. It reverberates inside her ribcage, and she slumps a little. You’re weirded out.

Seeing the look on your face, –who wouldn’t– she opens her mouth to elaborate why she was acting like she had a stick up her-

“The second division commander,” She grits out, narrowing her eyes again as if you’d magically transformed into said man, “Has a tendency to avoid the sick bay.” Oh, so… like you? You listen instead of trying to include anything to the conversation.

“It took more than an hour after he woke up to tell him that he needed bandages on his shoulder.” She continues, searching the deck and shaking her head, “And even then he kept saying that ‘it wasn’t necessary’ or that ‘it really wasn’t that bad’.” Cherry mouths, _it really was,_ as if having anybody hear her would mean her death. You’re sworn to silence, still.

“So, I bandaged him up, kicked him out of the bay to tend to everyone else, and when I was done with that, I see him _without_ the bandages.” She grouses, glaring at the floor. You’re happy to be out of her focus.

“You might think this is stupid but-” Another angry sigh, “The _reason_ I acted so… _ugh_ … at the sick bay with you is because not being _able_ to treat somebody’s wounds drives me crazy.

It’s not because I’m obsessed with having wounds treated, but because I worry like hell. I’m one of the head nurses here; it’s my job to overlook injuries, jot down allergies or problems a person may be dealing with. Not being able to do that when a person is clearly in trouble is… it’s _really_ stressful, (fake name).

So when I saw you limping around, holding your side, and then acting like nothing was _wrong…_ it worried me to the point that I was just angry. And I’m really sorry about that. On top of monitoring Pops’ drinking and… well, everything else… it’s just… it’s difficult, you know?”

When she explains it, yeah, you do know.

Cherry stops her rambling before it can get too out of hand, biting her lip as she ruffles her hair casually. “Sorry, I talked a lot there. Are your ears good?”

“Yeah.” You say after taking a bit to process everything.

So she’d acted like that because not being able to help someone is one of her pet peeves. You feel… kind of bad now… but what else could you have done? It’s only normal that after waking up on a stranger’s ship that you avoid everyone… right?

Whatever.

“Ace used to be like you.”

“What?” You stop, your train of thought crashing and imploding as you look at her.

“He used to avoid the sick bay back when he first joined, but for different reasons I’m not sure I should say. But anyway, he’s so used to _not_ suffering from injuries because of his devil fruit that he just-” She flung her hands up in the air, rolling her eyes.  “And he says he _doesn’t_ do it on purpose, too, like really?”

“Yeah, I-I-- I get where you’re coming from.” You stop her, a bit more in tune with how things rolled around here. So Ace was keen on running away from the sick bay. “But, if he can’t suffer from injuries because of his devil fruit, then…”

Cherry eyes flutter in your direction, and then she explains. “When he fell in the water, a piece of wood pierced his shoulder. Nothing major, obviously, but still. It was bleeding pretty bad. And since devil fruit users _can’t_ use their powers in the water, he had no protection.”

“Ah.” There goes another bout of your contentment… way to rain down on your peaceful state.

Oh well. You’d learned another thing about your commander. You could deal with that.

“Sooo... I _can’t_ go in?” Eager to change the subject so Cherry doesn’t explode from the frustration, you shoot the same question from before her way. Cherry nods curtly, and returning to professionalism, regards you coolly.

“Nope. So, shoo! Off to your duties!”

_Gladly._

(x)

After the barrage of information, you set off to do what Cherry brusquely ordered you to do: you went to your duties. Or to gain some, anyway.

At first, you were hesitant. Weeks of staying yet doing little to nothing attacked you, and the feeling of being lost conquered your being. You didn’t know where to go, who to talk to, what to do… it was addling and maddening at the same time.

In the end, you searched for the nearest person you prayed was a commander. The man you stumbled into was Vista, who pointed you in Ace’s direction. Vista, with his bulky arms crossed over his even larger chest, grinned down at you and commented that you should all play poker again.

At the mention of poker, you paused halfway through leaving, even more apprehensive to talk. Then you remembered how Thatch had triumphed, unscathed, for that matter, and you felt a sense of vengeance take over. Just how had he done it?

In the end, you agreed politely, before marching in the direction you’d been told. The scowls and stares you’d been expecting were replaced by greetings and other gestures that you had trouble returning. It was like the party Thatch had thrown, but this time even more stressful. Being accustomed to floating through the ship without being noticed, it was odd to have some many people talking to you. What was even stranger to them, the fact that you allowed it to happen.

But, no matter.

Finding the fire-man was relatively easy when you were following directions. It was just as Vista said; he was either munching on something or talking to one of the commanders. In this case, he was only doing the latter.

He was conversing with Marco, gesticulating and grinning. Marco answered calmly, patiently, obviously used to the younger man’s rambunctiousness.

When you enter his line of sight, Ace abruptly stops talking and turns to you, mildly surprised that you’d be out here.

“Oh, hey, (fake name)!” He greets amicably, hands on his hips as he turns his body towards you. You smile in return. Talking in public still left you uneasy.

“What are you doing out here?” Ace inquires.

“I… came to talk to you.” You answer, eyes bouncing over to Marco, who nods his head in greeting. There is a peculiar gleam in his eyes you can’t exactly place, but just as quickly as it arose, it vanished. “About...” You gesture with your hands, trying to come up with the words. “Duties.”

“Ah,” He says, after pondering over what you said, “Well, I know some cannons need cleaning. Why don’t you start with that? They’re below deck… do you know how to get there?” Ace finishes with a raise of an eyebrow.

“I’ll find my way.” You say, waving your hands before he can even think of offering to guide you there. You’ve been below deck for the one time you actually headed down to the galley, but that’s it.

“Alright,” Ace grins, hand fixing his hat as he straightens up.

And away you walked.

(x)

Below deck, close to the area with the cannons, everything was … crowded, strident, with an abundance of people. It’s what one could anticipate in a ship with more than a thousand people. The sheer number of individuals ambling along was, to say the least, intimidating. You were used to that feeling, though.

People buzzed by you, either to down a drink, play a game of cards on top of a crate or migrate to another place. You slipped and snaked your way through, barely grazing a soul, using your quietness to your advantage. You’d already done enough socializing for the day, you think, and it was only late afternoon.

A man strolls by, close to you, and stumbles to a friend, a drink in hand. They chat and laugh at whatever another slurred, and then the noise melts away with the rest.

Sneaking by another group, you chance a glance in their direction. Just like you’d said before, there’re people gambling and slamming cards down victoriously. They disregard anything around them, and you wonder how they’d be able to fight if something were to happen.

Aside from that, people walk right by. Some welcome and greet you, and some have too many things circling their heads to say anything.

Entering the area with the cannons, or at least, your assigned one, you peek at everybody there. They’re all calling several things to one another over the noise. They too are too preoccupied with their jobs to truly take note of your presence.

Marching over to the nearest cannon, you inspect its condition. It’s not bad, but dirt and filth still remained, clogging it. Grabbing the closest sponge, you grip the staff and shove it down the throat of the weapon. You scrub it down for a couple seconds, and then pull the sponge free. Its once semi-dirty appearance is now made worse by remnants of gunpowder, which is a good sign.

Picking a small towel from a crate, you wipe it down, making sure to clean the underside. You also check how the wheels are doing, to make sure that they’re not too weakened from use. When they stay strong under your testing, you deem it safe for the crew to use.

After that, you make sure that there is enough wads of what appears to be hay. Knowing that this ship had access to numerous places, you don’t question it. You’d used paper back with your crew.

Ignoring the pang of pain in your heart, you drift to the next cannon and repeat the same process.

It’s when you’re on your fourth cannon that somebody approaches you.

Sensing someone’s there, you look up from your work, rag in hand. Behind the cannon stands a man who, like everyone except Haruta, is much taller than you. He wears a pair of baggy pants that are tucked into a pair boots, covered in powder residue and other stains from working. The man also sports a black shirt, but most of all, a real pissed off look on his face.

_Oh, boy._

Clearing your throat and shoving your nervousness aside, you drop your current task and face him properly.

“Hello…” You begin, placing a hand on the cannon.

“So you’ve finally come out, huh?” The man rudely demands. Your eyebrows rise as you slowly wipe the cannon.

“Yes?”

The man nods, jaw locked and muscles straining. He tenses up, head swivelling to glance at somebody behind him before concentrating on your petite form again.

“Aye… and now you’re here.” He grates lowly, eyelids thinning to become two angry slits of doom and problems.

_Oh, **boy.**_

“Yes…?” You restate.

The man nods his head again, tongue poking out between his lips as he smirks. He chuckles dryly, as if you’d made a joke and he’s just laughing out of pity.

“Yeah… and what makes you think you have the right to be here, huh? After everything?”

 _Oh._ So this… this is what this whole thing is about.

Sweat accumulates in the nape of your neck uncomfortably at the man’s sharp glower. You inhale deeply, feigning thought as you carefully sidestep. Placing the cannon between you two seems awfully inviting, after all.

You take your time replying, intent on landing a safe spot before anything can happen.

“The commander gave me this job.” You explain, hoping this is enough to get him to back off.

“Right,” The man concurs, mocking the idea of the second division commander actually giving you something to do. He shakes his head in disbelief, and then shoots, “Well, I don’t _really_ agree with that.”

Now, back then, when your confidence literally dripped from every pore in your body, you would’ve responded cockily. But, with everything that’s happened and everything you have to atone for, you’re not feeling that.

Back then, you’d toss your guns in the air, load it, and shoot a sucker in the face. Sadly, you don’t have a gun, or the guts to do that anymore for that matter. Those feelings of power had all but been drowned with your ship. You weren’t getting them back any time soon.

Alarm lights up your flight or fight senses, adrenaline stealing through your veins, but you school your features. You don’t want to aggravate this man any further, and screening any signs of… anything, will do just that.

There’s so much aggression radiating off his person your nose scrunches up. He seems to take this as an insult, prowling closer to where you stood.

You withdraw a step, placing some distance between your two bodies. Other men have begun to gather around, watching with troubled or even delighted expressions.

It’s only then you notice something.

On this ship, men are bound to harbour a multitude of feelings and emotions towards anyone. They can experience a burning hatred, a choking amount of jealousy, respect, admiration for their higher-ups…

On this ship, not everyone was as forgiving as the commander.

And so when you cut short your gradual attempts to flee, he strikes.

Dodging to the left, you roll away then rise, feet braced for another move. The man howls something you miss, dodging once more when he swipes for your head. Thanks to your tinier stature, you’re quick to avoid these hits.

Roaring in anger, your attacker shoves the cannon that blocks him aside, and you backtrack to the edge of the circle. Out of nowhere, two huge hands grapple your shoulders and push you into your opponent.

Thrown off balance, you barrel head first towards him, arms swaying wildly as you try and catch yourself. When a fist rises to collide with your chin, you force all your weight to cooperate and fall to the ground, feeling a knuckle brush your cheek.

You’d managed to escape that, but sadly, now on the floor, you’re at a terrible disadvantage. Taking it, the man lands a hard kick on your gut, extracting a cough from your lungs. You grunt as the pain doubles with another kick.

Unrelenting, the man continually drives his foot into your gut, up until blood gathers in the back of your mouth. Coughing, you spit the crimson liquid on the floor and use your arms to block the next blow.

Grasping his foot, you twist it, _hard_ , so that he’s forced to spin around and fall to the floor. He tumbles down with a few boos from the audience, and you sit up, eyes wide. You’re not supposed to be fighting. Ace _just_ forgave you. And you still have to apologize to Whitebeard for what you did!

Crawling back, you will your body to move. Painfully, you stand up, hands circling your stomach to relieve some of the pain. You’re going to be dealing with some really exasperating bruises later, but don’t pay it attention.

Jogging in the direction of the exit, you try to break through the crowd, but again, you’re pushed to the middle of the battlefield.  

_Shit, shit, shit, just LET me OUT._

After your second attempt, you quit trying. Not because you’ve given up, but because the man’s suddenly gripped the back of your head. You bite back the cry of agony at having your hair pulled so roughly. Nails dig into your scalp, and you choke back another sound as you come up with another tactic.

Throwing your leg back, you kick him in the shin, twirl around when he lets go, and bring your leg up. Twisting your body, you roundhouse him in the side, where he collapses to the floor. Now on his knees, you use all your strength to smack him in the ears, stunning him. Using that as leverage, you give him another kick in the chest, the heel of your boot digging into the skin.

Even after that, he’s not finished.

He just stands up, shakes it off as if it was nothing, and springs at you again.

Gripping your collar, he tries to punch you in the face, but you block him with your left arm. Pain blooms there, and you think you hear a creak, but you don’t stop. Can’t, would be more appropriate, really.

Men in the crowd roar approvingly when your opponent hits you in the gut a fifth time, then lands another punch on your cheek. Head lolling to the side, you grip his wrists, tuck your legs close to your stomach, and boot him in the gut. He lets go, and you topple to the floor, your back colliding with solid wood. Your stomach, head, back, and side are throbbing, but you roll.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Somebody new wanders into the scene, but, unsurprisingly, you’re too busy to know who it is.

Now on your knees, you wait for him to strike again, but he’s frozen in his spot. He stares in the direction of the voice, eyes wide.

“I said, what’s going- _what are you doing?!_ ”

A man splits the crowd in two.

And in enters... Fire-Fist Ace.  

Still on all fours, you gape at him and then conceal your face in shame.

_Fuck._

“ _I said, **what are you doing?!**_ ” His voice reverberates through the room, much louder than any cannon when it is shot at the enemy. Ace is enraged, in disbelief. Sauntering up to you both, he places his body between you two and glowers. It wouldn’t shock you if he roasted you to a crisp.

Not gaining an answer from either of you, he turns to the nearest man and demands: “Who started the fight.”

The poor sucker stammers, struggling for a reply, and Ace loses his patience.

“ ** _Who started the fight?!_** ” He raises his voice again, and the ferocity behind each word twists your face into a grimace. Unable to bring yourself to look at him, you stare at his boots, and you feel more pathetic than ever.

“H-he- he did!”

Hoping that the man remains truthful, your eyes promptly snap to who he's naming.

Thankfully, it’s not you. Your attacker glares at the man who squeaked his answer then glimpses at the commander.

“You, get out.” Ace orders plainly, and the man does without another peep. He fixes you with one last cold glower as he struts by. The way he looks down the bridge of his nose at you has you looking away in case the commander is watching. The last thing you want to do right now is start another brawl and anger the fire user further. Swallowing your frayed nerves, you rise to your feet.

“(fake name), with me.” The raven-haired man commands sourly, motioning you to follow him. His voice has dropped to a much more tolerable volume, one that doesn't crash against your eardrums and make you wince with each syllable. Even so, it's much more terrifying than any of the yelling you've heard him do so far. It's an icy, dead tone that freezes your very soul and cuts whatever is in your mind short. "Everyone else, back to work."

You react accordingly, just like every other person, hands clutching your injuries as you trail after him. You rub your cheek, countering the urge to screech at every asshole that goaded the guy on and thrust you back in the circle. You resist the urge to slam the guy's mug into the cannon. You fight the urge to cry.

_He’s going to kill me._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commanders take no shit from anyone, which is why they're the commanders lmao.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the little action scene. I know everyone in the WB crew seems all inviting and nice but... they're pirates, and you kind of hurt their commander. There's bound to be some misunderstandings, right?
> 
> Aside from that, sorry for any mistakes or overwhelming repetition. I tried my best to edit this as much as possible and will be for the next couple o' days, but I just wanted to get this out.
> 
> To jayeNay: I hope the nurse character is a bit better in your book, now that you've seen a bit more into her character and her reasons.  
> To everyone: Thank you for your comments! I hope you enjoyed :')


	10. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Before we begin, I just want to thank everyone for 200+ kudos. I don't have a whole speech planned to thank you, so I'll just ramble and hope that you can understand. So.. 200. 200 people decided that pressing a button for an idea that came to me out of the blue was worth it and I'm just... really happy? I've been feeling kinda odd lately and seeing the number just made me really happy. So, thank you, everyone, for all your support. Your comments are always a joy to read.
> 
> But! Moving on from all that stuff, I had to cut this chapter short because it was bordering on 30 pages on Word, and that, that is a bit /too/ long if I do say so myself. Also, the writing was getting repetitive, which I honest to God am trying to fix in my other chapters so seeing that happening more often drove me sorta nuts lmao. Had to cut it! Aside from that, structurally, there's nothing but the same odd mistake and strange phrase here and there. I'll be fixing those, don't worry. Just need a bit of time away from the chapter and then I can spot those pesky mistakes when I return to it.
> 
> Also, you get to talk to the old man again :') which also makes me happy because WB is like... one my favorite characters in the entire series.  
> I promise that next chapter will be more interesting. This one was a LOT of dialogue, and I'm pretty sure the next one will be, as well, but you'll see!  
> Small hint: fire-boy. shocking?  
> That's all I'll say.
> 
> Uhhh.... yeah! That's about it. I'm sorry this was a month late. Things have cooled down so I'm hoping to have a chapter for both my stories next week or even this weekend. I already have almost half of the next chapter for this story written (since I had to cut this one lmao), so it'll come sooner than before. I hope.
> 
> Anyway, yeah! I hope you enjoy and that you're having a great day! Thank you for everything :)
> 
> Read on!

The universe, you’ve come to recognize, is an _enormous_ bitch.

This realization comes naturally to those that have gone through as much shit as you have. It’s even more applicable when you’re doing nothing but life continues to relentlessly attack you.

In this case, on this sunny day, your attacker was a crewmember.

You don’t blame him. In fact, you believe you deserved it. Soon after punching Portgas into the ocean and toppling down with him, you fainted without another peep. And that was seconds after having these men rescue you. Then, Cherry treated your injuries, and how do you thank them? By isolating yourself and shunning those that tried to approach you. _Again_.

You’d justified your actions in the beginning; you’d woken on a ship with no muscle and a single clue of whose ship you were aboard. But now, more than a week after waking… people were probably starting to tire of your excuses.

Or maybe you were being unnecessarily hard on yourself. You lost your crew, your vessel, and your reputation… all the things you’d worked incessantly to achieve. But, who knows? People had a multitude of opinions, and you were just grateful for the air in your lungs.

Sidestepping, you avoided a man hauling a relatively large crate. He exclaimed a few words, but you were striding away before they could reach you. Your leg ached and throbbed with each step, but it went without regard.  You had no time to play nurse when you were in so much trouble.

Dodging another person, this time a lanky individual, you inhale deeply. You’ve been following Ace for ten minutes —it’s understandable; it’s a gigantic ship— and you don’t think you can handle anything else. You have depleted the last vestiges of your energy, and it’s starting to become apparent.

After dragging you out from below deck and into the sun, he’d craned his neck to check if you were still there. His eyes were darkened by the shadows dancing on his face, and when they met your wide, anxiety-ridden ones, they snapped forwards a second after. Unfortunately for the two of you, it was a second late. It was enough time to decipher each emotion swirling inside his silvery irises.

They weren’t pleasant.

It was as if each emotion had been deliberately placed a certain way. Residing in his eyes, you noted fierce anger, but also a sadness that you couldn’t comprehend. Of course, anger is the emotion anyone would see at first, but if they were near…

“(fake name), keep up.” Ace orders out of the blue, voice sharp. His words you chase you back into reality, and you are torn from your ruminations. Speeding up, you widen your strides and close some distance between you two, heart thundering. How he’d known you were trailing too far behind without looking over his shoulder was scary.

Ignoring the stinging in your leg and body in general, you make sure to focus on him.  So many people are waltzing by that it’s difficult, but you suppose it was something to familiarize yourself with.

When you both descend into a steadier pace, you sense the odd atmosphere that floats above you both and frown. The noise level is nearly intolerable, that much is clear, but it’s also like a bubble has trapped you together. There’s a silence so tense it’s tangible, and it grows worse when a man greets the second division commander and he doesn’t return the gesture. Known for his cordiality, this is suspicious for the man and appalling to you.

_He’s fucking pissed. And it’s my entire fault._

The man becomes history when you enter a part of the ship you easily distinguish. During your exploration, you’d covered part of the deck closest to your room, which was to the left. Or maybe you’d made so many turns that you’d ended up there. It was hard to focus on remembering the past when your brain is attempting to malfunction. _Thanks, brain._

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you chance a peek at Ace. The muscles building up his back ripple, but not in the way one might think. It’s the ’ _I’m going to fucking murder_ ’ ripple. It’s dangerous and only accentuated by the clenching of his fists. Needless to say, you understand why so many hide and cower when they first see him.

You make a small turn to the right and down the stairs surrounding the deck. Then, you cross the expanse of the deck, which only fuels your fear. Your mind picks up the pace, and your thoughts crash and cut each other off. You’re forced to bite your tongue to choke back a pitiful sound. 

All you need is for the world to stop for a short while. Fifteen minutes is all you want.

Hands clammy, you curl your fingers into the skin of your sides, hoping you don’t double your injuries with your nails. You fight the tremors in your arms and legs and force them to lug you past another group of men. They note the commander’s expression and blink, burbling to each other.

When you’re finally across the deck, you climb the same steps and make another turn. It’s peaceful in this area, as there are fewer people, but you don’t let your body relax. Not like you can, either way.

This decision is well-made because your brain _damn_ _near_ short-circuits when Ace stops the spontaneous tour of the ship.

But, turns out, the most striking part of the whole thing is not stopping.

Halting at his side, you eye him indiscreetly, silently questioning his motives. He’s looking ahead, purposely avoiding your eyes. You can tell because his left eyebrow is twitching like it’s throwing a party. People buzz by your bodies, hollering and talking and shoulders barely brushing your own. It’s nerve-wracking.

“…”

None of you utter a word. You don’t have the guts to try.

At one point, you’re forced to move out of the way of a man carrying a barrel of who knows what. Someone bumps into you and almost knocks you into the commander. Thankfully, you regain your footing before you crash into the said man.

When you glue your body to the railing, you see Ace has brought his hands up as if to catch you. Your eyes meet again, and both of you stare at each other awkwardly. The blood rushing in your ears is louder than the rumble of the crew and its antics.

Finally, Ace’s shoulders droop and he rubs his eyes with his hands. His fingers knock his hat askew as he digs his palms into his eyelids. There’s a barely-there sigh that dents the silence.

At last, he shatters the quietude with his voice.

“(fake name),”

The way he heaves your false name is a mixture of frustration and stress. It’s like a hand has yanked the word out of him and he has to deal with the pain alone. His eyes slip shut, and then he’s saying the two words you never thought you’d hear from him.

“I’m sorry.”

_Pardon?_

Your jaw drops and, if it weren’t attached to your skull, you would’ve had to commence an expedition to hunt it down. Blinking rapidly, you goggle at the man towering over you at 6 feet. An echo booms in the back of your head, rhythmically, then erratically, and it doesn’t take a genius to deduce the source. You release all the air from your lungs and inhale when the lack of oxygen burns your throat. It cools you down as it enters your body, but at the same time freezes you in your place.

Finally, you enunciate:

“ _What_?”

Ace’s eyebrow pops the last balloon and the party on his face ends. His face scrunches in what you readily perceive as anger, and you immediately scramble back. Your boots thump on the floorboards, and it breaks him free from his daze. Eyes snapping open, he faces you with wide eyes. At his face, words begin toppling out of your mouth, uninterrupted.

“Why are you-” You shake your head, struggling to find the correct wording. At last, you manage to grit in a low voice, “ _Why_?”

Ace recovers from your small outburst, his eyes roving your body and lastly, your features. When he spots what you can safely assume is an unattractive bruise, he instructs that you follow him with a wave.

You do, this time with no hesitation because what in the actual fuck is he saying?

 Is he blaming himself?!

“I’m sorry because-” He’s cut off by a quick tip-toe session around another man with a pile of planks in his arms. You evade the obstacle, and your body complains again. Like before, you pay it no attention. “I sent you down there without even talking to my division.”

_So?!_

“ _And_?” You breathe, then curse internally when you tango with a different crewmember. How Ace is hearing you through this racket is admirable, and you're grateful. You don't want to shout.

Both you and the guy shuffle from one side to the other, mirroring each other’s actions ’til you shove past him with an apology. Just where in the flying _fuck_ do these people keep coming from? _What_ are they trying to repair that requires _stampeding_ down the same place you’re walking?!

Ace is awaiting your arrival, hat pulled low over his forlorn eyes as he gazes into your own. You both restart your process when you reach him, although it’s harder this time.

“I-” He clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head as you limp after him. The ache is starting to flare, and you can hear your heel dragging behind you as you walk. As if sensing your pain, he slows a few paces without a second thought. You’re appreciative and disconcerted.

Staring up at him, you wait for him to clarify why he’s acting like a kicked puppy. His eyes are downcast and shadowed, so much that you can barely see them. You know he can see you, though.

Marching on, you’re about to urge him to speak when he opens a door and he stumbles inside. Bemused, your head swivels back and forth as you enter and absorb the change in environment.

A white curtain flutters in the room as it is tugged aside.

Then you hear a female voice.

“Sorry, I don’t do therapy for couples in distress. You could try the next island, though.” 

_Excuse me, what the fuck did she just-_

Cherry.

“Wha-” You begin hastily, but you’re interrupted by the male alongside you.

“Cherry-”

Ace and you pause and glance furtively at the other, having spoken concurrently. The heat gradually travels up the column of your neck to your cheeks. You hope whatever bruises you’ve gained from the fight cover the blush.

Coughing, Ace avert his eyes elsewhere and then opens his mouth.

“I know why you’re here.” Cherry butts in before he can say a single thing. “Come on, both of you.”

Both of you follow the older woman through the room, awkwardly occupying a set of stools. Well, you take the first one you see, which is luckily the one Cherry stands closest to. Ace has to grab one from another part of the sick bay. He lays it down diagonally to yours, right below one of the portholes. Leaning against the wall, he conceals his face from you and the woman with you. Despite his attempts, the red is still visible on his neck.

At least he’s embarrassed as well... You’d inferred that blushing was foreign to a man as confident as him.

Beet red, you settle down and rub soothing circles on your injured leg. You and Ace steer clear of each other’s eyes as Cherry shuts the blind and separates you from the world.

“So, what brings _you_ here, Ace?” Cherry queries curiously, hands planted on her hips as she focuses on him.

The man in question points to you, which makes you shrink and hide your face, then casually adds, “And for my shoulder too, I guess.”

“You guess…” Cherry reiterates with a hefty eye-roll, then strolls past him to gather the items she’ll need. “And, (fake name), do I even want to know what happened to you?” She finishes coolly, precariously calm. It’s that voice of serenity that scares the living daylights out of you. You shuffle in your stool, wincing at the shrill shriek it lets loose.

Cherry waits for your excuse, but you’re not fast enough. Ace, kindly and smartly, answers for you. “Yes, because you need it for the next medical report.” Cherry’s visage drops visibly, and she awards the man a second eye-roll for his observation.

“I know _that._ ” She retorts, glaring at the commander. “I’m one of the head nurses here; you _think_ I would forget about that?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t test me, boy.”

“You’re only five years olde-”

Cherry makes a series of yip-yapping noises to hush Ace, and it works like a charm. Arching an eyebrow, he silently judges her, but she either doesn’t see or just doesn’t care. “Let’s just get on with it.”

Flipping her lengthy red tresses over her shoulder, she picks up an unsullied roll of bandages. Ace, seeing the item, unravels the old one and proceeds by sticking out his arm.

“I’m not treating your wounds while you’re leaning against the wall.” Cherry grouses, gauze in hand and frown on her face. Ace releases an exaggerated sigh and lugs his stool to the centre of the room, where you’re seated. The only noise in the room is the scratching of the legs of the stool on the floor. It’s awkward but also amusing in a strange sort of way. You can tell he doesn’t like this place in the slightest.

A few additional moments and Ace slumps down on his stool with a huff besides you. Were you to view this from another perspective, you would agree with Cherry. You do kind of look like an unhappy couple.

Except you’re _not_ and you really don’t want your face to betray you again, so you crush that train of thought.

“Thank you,” Cherry says sincerely once Ace has quit moping and suspends his left arm in the air a second time. From this angle, you can scrutinize the injury, and… well, it’s nothing extremely serious. It _could_ escalate into something uglier if treatment is postponed, but… it definitely won’t scar. Still, it looks like it might’ve hurt. It’s a stretched out, horizontal cut that curves downwards at a small angle near the beginning of his clavicle.

You touch your fingers to your face in an attempt to figure out by yourself just how much damage you’d been inflicted. Meanwhile, Cherry and Ace bicker back and forth.

“I still don’t understand why you tried to walk out _without_ bandages,” Cherry grumbles and discards the aged gauze with a quick flick of her wrist.

“And I still don’t understand why you worry so much.” Ace shoots back, trying to keep his lips from curling upwards.

“Because-”

“ _Because_ you’re one of the head nurses and it is your job to look after everyone on this ship.” Ace drones on impassively, eyebrows rising in mirth. You smirk secretly at the irritation that crosses the older woman’s features. Shoulders drawn back, Cherry sends her patient a displeased glower.

After wrapping the coarse material around his bicep, perhaps a bit tighter than was obligatory, Cherry smacks Ace’s shoulder to top things off. He acts like he’s been tremendously hurt by her actions, which earns him another smack, this time to the back of his head.

Meanwhile, you overlook the strange sensation in your gut as the two interact, cocking your head to the side as you drown it.

Laughing, Ace sets his hat the way it’s meant to sit and flashes you a toothy grin. The colour of his eyes is still the same alluring silver, but this time, the irises are much brighter. They shine mischievously, but grow dim when they land on your cheek. You shift in your seat, breaking the eye contact nervously.

_Sigh._

You’re going to have to beat the guilt out of him with your words.

He, of _all_ people, is _guilty_ for something he had no control over.

Speaking of which, he never did explain _why_ he was festering such an emotion.

“Well, you’re done, _commander_.” Cherry states and scoffs to herself. You can clearly see the amusement in her eyes, though. It makes that odd emotion stir in your stomach, but you don’t know what it is. The feeling almost… boils inside you, but is icy and so _… weird._

Ace whoops jokingly, letting the nurse know _just how much_ he appreciates her fussing.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, (fake name)?” Cherry asks, clicking her tongue when Ace starts dragging his stool back to the wall. The sound carries throughout the room, and you’re not sure he’s aware of what he’s doing.

When he sits down again and stops causing a racket, Cherry sighs tiredly. You nervously peer at Ace, who has his burly arms crossed over his chest. He regards you with genuine innocence. The red-head, conscious of what your eyes are trying to convey, calls out to him

“Ace,” Cherry sighs, and said man hums curiously.

 When the red-head doesn’t respond, Ace sits up, blinks at her, and then finally asks, “What?”

“I need you to leave.”

“Oh… am I making you uncomfortable?” Unexpectedly, he directs this question to _you,_ and your mouth falls open in a silent reply. Without an excuse at the ready, you nod dumbly, hoping that he’s not angry.

Ace hops off the stool instantly, meeting your eyes with a soft, worried look. There’s that fondness you feel when someone does something good-naturedly but kind of silly at the same time in his eyes. The worried crease in his brow fades with a shake of his head.

“Could have told me,” He chides with no real malice then grins at you lopsidedly. You’re too ashamed to return it. Ace’s words plant a new seed of remorse in your heart, where it grows when you realize that you’re lying to him.

 _It’s necessary, (name). Stop acting like a baby._ You sternly scold your thoughts for straying into unwanted territory. Your plate is already full, and these ridiculous feelings are not welcome.

“See ya, nurse.”

And just like that, he tugs the curtain back, exits, closes it, and walks out the door.

You don’t say a word after that, mostly because of your brain is screaming several different things at you and because you need to listen. You're conflicted; you want to leave, grab him by the shoulder, and demand why he was acting like this... but also you needed to be checked up and you don't want Cherry to kill you. Speaking of... Listening, you look to Cherry, who’s also keeping an ear out in case someone is hiding behind the door.

After a minute or two, you rupture the silence with a feeble sigh.

“(fake name), what happened?” Cherry asks, picking up Ace’s forgotten seat. She places it down in front of you and sits down.

“There was a fight.” You mumble, uneasy now that the commander has left. Your brain unearths Cherry’s speech from an hour ago, reminding you that you should not hide your wounds from this person.

“Well, that much I can tell.” She asserts gently with worry dancing in her dark eyes. Cherry stands up briefly to grab a kit from a table, then cracks it open when she sits down.

“How did it start?”

You take some time to think, struggling with the wording of your story. In the end, you blurt whatever your mind throws at you first.

“I don’t know,” You shrug your aching shoulders. Fighting after such a long time sure was killing your body right now. “I was doing what the commander told me to do. Then a guy just… showed up and decided he should start something.”

“And you retaliated?” Cherry wonders out loud, eyes narrowing at the thought of having you in a fight.

You scoff humourlessly, and a pang of pain shoots up your spine. Wincing, you opt to stop answering with your body and instead use your words. “No. I tried running away, actually.”

An additional burst of shame bubbles within you, and you lower your eyes to the floor. You tried escaping from a fight. The old you wouldn’t even begin dreaming of that.

“There was a circle of people around us,” You begin, leisurely drawing the shape in the air with your finger. “Booing, egging him on… and pushing me back when I tried to leave.” _Dicks._

Sure, you didn’t blame the guy, but he was still an asshole for acting like such a bloody child. You could’ve handled things like adults, but no. Someone just had to assert their dominance on you today.

“Wow,” Cherry breathes, taking out a bottle of alcohol, bandages, and some medical tape from the kit. She balances everything on her lap charily and then stares at you. “You okay?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you point to the places you were hit, but she shakes her head.

“I mean, up here.” Then she taps her temple.

 _Oh_.

“Yeah… I’m good. Just tired.” You admit, brushing her concern off. Admittedly, you feel like absolute shit, but you decided not to relay this information to her. It’s best to just deal with it on your own.

“Alright,” She nods, red locks of hair bouncing with her actions. Cherry picks up a chunk of cotton from the kit and wets it with the alcohol. Following this, she presses it to your right cheekbone and tells you to hold it there.

She grabs and rips several pieces of gauze and tape then lays both items on her lap. Wiping your cheek with the cotton, she scrutinizes the relatively big cut on your cheek.

_So it’s not just a bruise. Neat._

When Cherry tosses the cotton on the kit, you can clearly see the blood dotting the material. The skin of your face tingles from the effects of the liquid. Tapping the gauze to the damaged area, she sticks it with the pieces of tape then leans back.

“You have a bruise here,” A finger directs your hand to the bridge of your nose. When it makes contact, you don’t even flinch. It’s a minor injury that won’t require much, thankfully.

“Okay.”

“Where else did you get hit?” Cherry carries on, waving her hand to get you to rise. You react accordingly to her command and relocate your attention to your stomach.

“The guy threw me down and started kicking me.” You elaborate curtly, voice barely above a murmur. Training your eyes on the wall, you wait for her to process the new information.

“You’re going to have to take your shirt off.” _Great._

Nervously, you thumb the fabric of your shirt then peer down at her. She vacates her seat and plants her hands on her hips patiently. When you don’t move, she raises an eyebrow as if daring you to say no to her demand.

“Fine, fine…” You relent with a sigh, even more grateful to the bandages binding your chest. Facing the other way, you rub your shoulders, then realize that your jacket isn’t on. The nurses had trashed it, for good reason, but you’re going to need a brand new one. This shirt was getting the job done, but there was nothing wrong with going the extra mile.  

You remove your shirt painstakingly slow, hands shaky and your abdomen tossing a fit at the movements. Then, with another round of sluggish movements, peel the bandages wrapped around your middle. Now that you realize it, you’re practically a mummy with how many bandages you had around you. First your chest, then your middle, and now your leg.

A pang of pain hits your abdomen again when you go through the last stretch to remove your clothing and bandages.

It’s for a different reason than you thought, though.

As if thinking the same thing, Cherry brings up a question. “How’s your side, by the way?”

Smoothing your hands over the scar, you study the strangeness of the area. It’s not fully cured yet, but there was fresh scar tissue beginning to form, which means that it’s healing nicely. The gash is completely sealed at the corners, the flesh puckered and pink. You’d expected this to occur, so you don’t mind it too much.

“It’s definitely better.” You muse, voice returning to what it should be. It sounds foreign to your own ears, but you appreciate not having to deepen it.

You smooth your shirt over the stool and listen to Cherry as she goes on.

“Good.” Cherry asserts, and you can sense the pride oozing off of her. Clearly, she was more worried about the stupid thing than you.

Standing there awkwardly, you wait for her to be done examining your injuries. They’re just bruises, bad ones, but bruises. Cherry steps closer and you lean back slightly. She doesn’t seem to care.

Suddenly, one of her fingers pokes one of the bruises, and your heart lurches so violently it nearly falls out your mouth. Even so, you remain still, anxiety tugging at the seams tying your composure together.

“Okay, you’re good.” She states, then slinks away from you. You remind your lungs that your brain needs oxygen, and they begin their rhythmic inhalations again. They’re forced, but at least you’re breathing.

“Really?” You ask, watching as she nods her head. She digs through the aid kit and pulls out a bottle of pills.

“This’ll help with the pain, but aside from that, there’s not much else I can do,” Cherry explains, handing you your bottle of pills and sighing.  “Besides, I can tell you don’t like this place at all.”

_Ehhhhhhh…._

“Busted?” You mumble weakly, then wilt when Cherry deadpans at your words.

 _Okay_ , so you’re not fond of the place. So what? It’s not like you’re having the best day, anyway. You wake up, flee, barrel into the commander, and then get in a fight only to end up here again.

Although, you suppose it's not really the place's fault. Again, you blame it one the extraterrestial being looming over you and flicking stupid shit at you with it's spindly finger. Stupid universe.

“It’s fine.” She sighs, dismissing your apologetic stare. “You’ve had a rough day. Give me the dirty bandages when you’re done.”

Heh, _rough._ Just… just rough.

Well, at least she understands.

Still…

Silence settles in the room, and you fill it with the ruffling of your shirt as you tug it on. Cherry has retired to other duties like cleaning up after treating the cut on your face. She tosses Ace’s old bandages in the trash. You button up your shirt then fix the sleeves so they rest comfortably. Finally, you stuff the bottle of pills in your left pant pocket.

“(fake name),” Cherry’s voice reaches your ears, her tone igniting a rush of unease in your veins.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful with _those_ bandages.” She warns, then quiets down. You sense that something else is plaguing her mind. A question, you’re sure, but she’s not asking it so you don’t answer.

“…”

Instead, you wrestle your need to leave and ask her what’s been on your mind for God knows how long. Gathering the sullied gauze, you fold it up and place it on the stool.

“I need to see Whitebeard.” Your voice is firm, resolute, and memories of your first time speaking to the old man swim into view. It’d been the first time you’d met the legend that he was, and honestly, you’re a little bit proud. You’d been able to walk out of there without too much trouble. A few dents on your pride... and a bitter taste in the back of your mouth after he smoothly revealed that he's aware of who you are after you'd tried convincing him otherwise.

You’d tried tricking him, just like you’d tricked everyone on this ship, that you were a man.

Obviously, that did not work out, as he had a newspaper with you as a bold headline announcing you’d perished. There were obvious differences, like the change in your frame. Due to the lack of food and water on that plank, you’d lost a sizeable amount of weight. You were still what others would consider slightly underweight, but… well… you’re getting better. You’d gained back most of it with the meals people would deliver to you when you first isolated yourself.

But, alas, you'd failed to make him believe you. 

“(fake name), I’ve already told you, Pops is not feeling well today.”

“I _know_ ,” You heave, whirling and meeting the head nurse’s eyes. Her frown deepens at the desperation that seeped into your words. “But I _need_ to talk to him, because…”

Because you still had a lot of things to do. Because the next point on your list is speaking to the old man, disregarding the fact that he’s daunting as fuck.

You also ignore the wistful wish to have Ace speak to his division so they leave you alone. If it were to happen, you’d be able to do more than cower in a dark corner, listening to men and their conversations.

“Fine,” Cherry yields tiredly, then continues. “But I’m taking you to him. If I see that he isn’t feeling better at all, then we’re leaving. Is that fair?”

“Fair and square,” You agree seriously, already sauntering over to the door. Heels click closer to you, and you can hear the distinct sounds of Cherry’s muttering. Opening the door, she slips past you, and you limp after her.

(x)

“Can I know the reason why you want to see him?” The red-head queries as she guides you through the ship. That tidal wave of men has toned down, so you’re now able to walk side by side. You wished the wave would’ve hit now so you could’ve had the chance to speak to Ace, but… well, it’s in the past now. Perhaps you’ll catch him later, although you don’t know what you’d say to him.

Vaguely, you wonder where the commander disappeared off to as you answer. “I just want to talk to him about some things.” You explain quickly, even though it doesn’t answer the question. There are people nearby, and you don’t feel too safe after the whole quarrel below deck. One of those men could be watching you right now.

“Alright, alright,” She relents and trains you with a wary glare. “You better not be sneaking in booze into his room, though. God _knows_ the first division commander already does that enough.”

“Where would I even-” You begin then close your mouth with a weak sigh. If you ask, she might end up suspecting you actually are planning on smuggling a drink to the old man. Besides, you assume it’s somewhere in the kitchen, a place where access is only permitted to higher ups and cooks. At least, that’s what you’d inferred. You’d heard people blabber on about someone always trying to cajole the cooks into providing them extras.

Instead, you weave through the ship’s deck, keeping your head lowered so people don’t approach you. Cherry’s heels clack on the floorboards of the deck, and you follow the sound, albeit a tad hesitantly.

Eventually, they stop, and you raise your head to the sight of a large white door. _The_ large white door with gold decorating that scares the hell out of you.

 _That_ one _._

Admittedly, you weren’t so sure about your idea anymore.

You wait for Cherry to rap her knuckles on the wood, because you’re a chicken, and arch an eyebrow when she doesn’t. She has her back towards you, so you can’t perceive her expression.

“Are you one hundred percent sure you want to go in?” She raises the question as she turns around to face you, and you frown. Cherry settles her hands on her hips, staring at you with concern. “Because you look _terrified_.”

You? Scared?

…

Was that even a shock anymore?

Releasing a heavy sigh, you shrug your shoulders and nod. “…yes.”

Cherry doesn’t break eye contact with you until things get _really_ awkward. Then she blurts, “If you say so,” And without another word, thumps her fist on the door three times.

_Oh God, here we go._

“Come in.”

The captain’s voice reaches your ears as if there wasn’t even a door separating you two. It’s deep, low, and reverberates through your very bones so they rattle. You sincerely doubt he’d even raised his voice.

Cherry twists the knob and swings the door open with a flourish, voice sarcastic, “I _wonder_ who I’m going to catch in here.” You linger behind, utilizing Cherry’s frame as a sort of shield from the legend reclining in the bed the size of a small country.

The red-head marches in like she owns the room and not the captain, arms crossed as she declares, “The first division commander!” then adds in a less jubilant tone, “What a surprise.”

Outside, you shift uncomfortably, hands latching on to your shirt. It’s unbearably hot today, even though you’re wearing anything too heavy. Your skin glows because of the thin sheen of sweat that’s broken out on it, and you swipe your forehead.

“He’s doing nothing wrong, Cherry,” Whitebeard’s laughter rumbles deeply within his chest. He finishes with a sigh that sounds a bit exhausted, but you can’t be certain.

“Fine,” She says, and you can picture her waving her hands dismissively, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” This time, it’s Marco’s voice you hear next, “We were just talking, nothing more.”

You rest all your weight on one foot impatiently. The sooner you can talk to the captain, the better.

“Oh, good, because I have someone that wants to talk to you, Pops.” She explains, and with a deep inhale, you take it as your cue to enter the scene.

Shuffling inside, you resist the urge to run straight out the door when Whitebeard’s eyes settle on you. When you gaze back up at him, he glances down at Marco, who is already rising from his chair.

“Thank you, Cherry.” Whitebeard nods and Cherry returns the gesture. Then, Marco and said woman walk out. Cherry claps a hand on your shoulder reassuringly and then shuts the door gently.

_Fuck._

“You’re back.” Whitebeard begins the conversation when he effortlessly notes your distress. You curse and also admire how easily he can read you.

“I am.” You affirm, your voice less tremulous than the first time you visited him. Maybe it’s because the anxiety hasn’t fully registered yet. Or maybe it’s because your body has already ascended to another plane of _fuck this shit what’s the fucking point_ and it just doesn’t care anymore.

Both of you are silent for a while as you organize your thoughts into a coherent mess. You try to arrange them neatly, pick and relay them calmly to the man in front of you, but… well, that’s unaffordable as of now, thank you. 

Puffing out your chest, you stare at the machine beeping at his side. You listen to the noises, trying to get your breathing to match the damn thing. Whitebeard watches you mutely, head tilted to the side.

Finally, you gather the courage to speak.

“I’ve come here to apologize.” You begin, unsure of the conclusion you want to reach. Your words have no direction, but you hope you’ll find it along the way because lord knows you need to make sense. He might ask you to repeat yourself and the mere thought of doing that sends icy chills through your body. “About what I did… yesterday.”

_It’s only been a day._

_It’s only been a day._

_How has it **only been a day?**_

Whitebeard continues to listen, collected as expected because why wouldn’t he be and _oh, you’re so fucking nervous._

“I don’t know what you’ve heard from your crew, but I can _assure-_ ” You take a brief moment to calm down, damning the way your voice broke at the last word. “I can assure you that it was an accident.”

You rub your eyes, then let your hands sink back to their original place at your side. It’s so difficult to look him in the eye and not just because of his height.

Inhaling, you focus on the floor, praying that the universe doesn't fuck with you any more because you're done.

“I know it was an accident.” Whitebeard says simply, “Ace came and talked to me about it.”

_Stupid loser say what-_

“What?” You utter, perplexed, and shake your head. “ _What?”_

Whitebeard’s shoulders shake with booming laughter, and you flinch, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. You could’ve contained some of that shock. _Stupid. Stupid._

“He’s talked to me.” The man repeats with a trouble-free grin, reaching for something at his side. Something that is apparently missing, judging by the way he grumbles.

“What- what did he say? To you?” You carry on, surrendering your safe place by the door and inching forwards cautiously. The thought of Ace speaking to Whitebeard on your behalf sits on the back your mind like a dead weight. It’s horrifying.

“That it was an accident and that if it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t be alive,” Whitebeard responds, yellow eyes cast to the ceiling as he likely quotes the commander. You frown, eyebrows pinched as you mull over this new information.

You’d jumped into the water, sure, but it hadn’t been that much. There might’ve been water in his lungs that the nurses had to handle. And, without those men dangling the rope and dragging you out, you would’ve gotten both of you killed.

You did the least amount of work.

“Now _that_ is what I call an exaggeration.” You say, fiddling with your shirt.

The old man shrugs his enormous shoulders, his placid nature rolling off of him in strong waves. Seriously, it was almost drowning you.

“But I barely did anything,” You argue, and forward your previous train of thought to him, “I just kept his head above the water. Anybody could’ve done that.”

“Not everybody,” He shoots back, voice kept down. You stare at him, bemused. “Ace told me you were running away from the marines.”

Well _shit_ , there goes the rest of your pride.

“Yes… I did.” You might as well admit to it. People had already seen you and denying it would only dig you a deeper grave.

“And yet, despite all the fear, you went back for him. You saved him.”

“But I _hit him._ I punched him off the ship- doesn’t that make you angry at all?” You insist, carding your hands through your short tresses. Whitebeard doesn’t answer that question. He eyes you, that odd, knowing gleam you saw once in his eyes shining brightly.

“I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” He chuckles, making you flinch but less violently this time. You give him a look, then cross your arms and snap your head to the side.

“And I think you’re not being a proper captain.” You retort, then immediately regret opening your mouth. 

Unmoving, you await your doom as you drop the stance, eyes screwed shut. Oh, you just keep messing everything up, don't you.

“ _Brat_ ,” Whitebeard shakes his head, a smirk playing at his lips. “Who are you to tell _me_ I’m not a proper captain, eh?” He demands although you don’t sense a change in attitude. This confuses you even more, but you don’t question it. You might as well thank this man’s patience with people. He’s probably dealt with so much shit that your words aren’t even grazing him.

“No one, really,” You reply softly, then meet his eye. Understanding crosses his features, and he adjusts his position on his bed, sighing.

Silence greets you both again, a soundless agreement to provide the other a few minutes to think.

Honestly, you’re still reeling over Ace speaking to Whitebeard on your behalf. You would’ve expected him to just barge into the sick bay and kill you, but instead, he’d done… _this._

And _still, STILL_ , he felt guilty.

_Just… what the actual fuck?!_

It’s intolerable. You weren’t about to allow this sort of shit. Not on your watch, no _fucking_ way.

“I don’t remember you having more injuries.” Whitebeard points out casually when he’s done pondering over whatever. You blink, then cover your injured cheek with your hand.

“That’s… something else I wanted to talk to you about.” You say, biting your lip nervously. “There was a small disagreement… below deck.” At this, you can see Whitebeard’s mood shift ever so slightly. You don’t really know why his mood has changed, but you struggle to push it back to happy.

“It wasn’t anything bad, I promise.” You explain hurriedly, “Just… someone was mad and needed to get things out… I guess.”

_Holy shit I’m bad at this._

Seeing that you’re not as open to that conversation, Whitebeard smoothly tosses that subject aside with another question. “Cherry has seen to your wounds?”

Motioning to Cherry’s work on the side of your face, you confirm his assumption. “Yeah, I’m all better now.”

The old man nods.

“We’ll be docking at an island soon.” He states randomly, and you blink again, although this time out of curiosity.

“Why… why are you telling me this?” You ask tentatively, feeling a bit more relaxed now that all the prying matters are out of the way. He doesn’t look mad and hasn’t decided to throw you overboard.

You’ll take it.

“Just thought you should know,” He replies, and you watch as he reaches down for the missing object again. The old man gripes to himself, and you can’t help the tiny, crooked smile crossing your features.

“What’re you looking for?” You inquire, laughing internally when he perks up at your voice. He’s very determined to find whatever it is he’s looking for, that’s for sure.

“Booze.”

“Ah,” You huff, wetting your lips and smiling fully. The captain seems to notice this and kind of glares at you, which is still intimidating as fuck but says nothing else.

“I could… I could try to bring some for you?” You offer, but Whitebeard shakes his head no.

“Cherry has taken a liking to you. Let’s keep it that way, for both our sakes.” He laughs at the thought of the woman. You don’t know why, but you can _definitely_ hear the exhaustion in that chuckle. It’s strange because his appearance is suggesting everything but weariness.

“Alright,” You agree, then clumsily take a step back. It amuses the old man even further, and a blush attacks your face again. Brushing it off, you say, “I’ll leave you now. You probably need your rest.”

Whitebeard’s eyebrow twitches at that comment. “I’m not so old as that…” You hear him grumble, and with one last odd look, you slip away. The door swings open when you twist the doorknob, and you face the old man one last time.

“Thank you.” You breathe earnestly, voice reduced to a whisper, and exit the room.

Whitebeard mumbles something you don’t pick up, but you don’t really mind that. With a strangely fond smile, you shut the door and head back the way you came.

Your body is powered by a bizarre jolt of purpose. Every step you take carries you onwards as you scan the crowds for a certain commander, fists clenched in concentration. When you don’t see an orange hat, you hiss a colourful word, then slink away.

You need to find this man, and you need to find him _now._

It’s about time you beat that absurd guilt out of him or so God help you, you were going to kill him.

 _Just how can he even feel guilty?_ You think desperately, feeling the urge to pace back and forth like you did back in your room. Stamping it to a non-existent mote of dust, you keep searching. He can’t have wandered that far off.

But then again, he did have things to do.

Halting, you cross your arms over your chest. You’ve stopped at an area that’s completely abandoned. It’s close to the captain’s quarters and acts like an open hall.

Should you wait until night time?

You don’t want to, but it does seem like the most favourable option if you want to catch him.

Disappointed with this observation, you sluggishly resign to your room, eyes downcast. Usually, you’d be ecstatic to return someplace where you know it’s safe, but… it was dark in there, and gloomy, and you had someone you could turn to… kind of. The commander and you were the beginning of friends, so you don’t doubt that he’ll push you aside if you need something, but…

 _Uggghhh_.

But you’re so panicky half of the time that, judging from how your social interactions have ended, it’s impossible. It’s impossible to have a conversation with him because he’s so… respected? Admired? And he’s good at talking to people while you nearly break down at the mere thought?

Eventually, sometime in the middle of your musings, you end up in front of your door. You don’t know how, but you recognize the wood, so you throw it open. Darkness recoils at the intrusion of light as you do.

_The same barrels, crates… and the bed._

You could attempt to nap the entire afternoon, but then you’d miss dinner and your body is in need of nutrition. You’re positive that if you remain in this weakened state any longer you’ll be like this forever. And you can’t have that. Not if you want to leave.

You enter, shutting the door by leaning against it and approach the bed. You’d exited the room without doing anything to it, and it hadn’t changed. That’s good.

Plopping down, you kick the covers to the edge and close your eyes. Gulls squawk outside, and you can hear the dim sounds of the crew.

Unable to help it, you think of your own ship, ignoring how your thoughts derail and frantically try to scramble in another direction.

Your day had started just like this; seagulls, annoying sounds, and the waves gently rocking the ship. You open your eyes, gazing up at the ceiling like you’d done with the stars on the plank. The day had begun leisurely, normal, and yet you’d lost everything.

You scratch your neck, mood dampened and panic beginning to swell.

Everything was fine, and yet here you are. All because you were cocky.

Smacking the bed with both hands, you rise, “Okay, that’s enough. Thanks, brain.”

You wait a couple minutes, putting your whole mind into breathing and keeping your thoughts in a healthy place. Then, you recline, the pillow hugging the back of your head. Your chest and middle ached from the tight binding when did so, but your middle is free now and liberated from the pain. You’re thankful for that.

Dragging a hand across your new scar, you pore over it thoughtfully.

You had to be careful with it, and that meant no fighting marines or people in general. If you’re further away, from a vantage point of a sort, you might be able to aid in a battle. But up close, you’d be of no use.

You couldn’t fight marines. Or run from them. Or pushing commanders-

“Sto _oop_ …” You moan pitifully, cradling your head in your hands. Digging your nails into your scalp, you inhale and exhale, trying to reach some comfort. When it doesn’t work, you take it a step further by removing the binding around your chest.

“Holy shit,” The words ghost past your lips in a hiss as you lay the long fabric on the bed. No wonder you were having trouble breathing. That shit had been tight as shit.

_That shit had been tight as shit._

Yeah, okay, so maybe you needed a bit of sleep.

But the thing is, you’re not tired in the slightest. Whatever fatigue you’d been festering from the battle has now abandoned you.

You crawl out of bed, lips tugged downwards pensively. What could you do? If you try to go work or do something, God knows what might happen. It was not a risk you were willing to take.

Walking towards the wall, you collapse against it and slide down to sit on the floor. Your back itches and throbs from the contact and the bandages, but you’d been getting used to it. Even now you’re slightly uncomfortable without them on.

Sighing, you allow your head to bump against the wall as you think. You close your eyes, hands hugging your knees, and wait.

It was all you could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what did you think? Cherry's first comment when you enter honestly gives me life because I could honestly see it happening. I don't know if you could, but I hope you were able to. I also hope that Ace's and Cherry's interactions won't make you hate her because she does mean well. In her own very blunt way. And yeah, she's around 25. I thought it'd be cool to have her be so mature despite her 'young' age. Idk tho. What did you think? 
> 
> Uhm... oh yeah! The guilt! Haha... and you thought that it was just you (or maybe you didn't lmao). Honestly, I can see Fire-Fist feeling guilty for sending you down there and you ending up hurt. I think he'd partially blame himself, for reasons that are in the chapter and will most likely be in the next one. Again, I have that one almost halfway done, maybe a bit less, but rest assured that it'll come. I don't know. Having both parties feel guilty for reasons that are shocking to each other just made me very amused. And the stampede of men added to that mirth. 
> 
> Aren't you excited for a change of scenery?! You're docking! What sort of island do you think you'll land at? It's nothing too complicated because personally, I'm pretty simple, so you know. Plus, I think this location will be a fun change for everyone, characters in the story included lol.
> 
> Nothing else to say, really. I hope I'm not pushing the pedal through the floor, just like I'm also hoping that the story isn't too slow. I mentioned in my other story that I'm new to the whole story-telling business, and I don't know if I did here. Welp, now you know. I don't mean to end all my chapters with having you fall asleep, but it seems the best option... I'll try to drag myself away from that safe spot and try different things, I promise. I strive to improve! The endings might differ more since we are changing scenes, but... well! We'll see! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I await your comments and critique c:
> 
> [This story is one year old!! I'm sad that I missed its anniversary; time seriously does fly! To those that have been here from the beginning: thank you so much. You made this possible! And to those that hopped on this train at a later time, I'm super grateful to you too. 200!! That's... wow. I wanna cry lol]


	11. Bridging the Gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I said you should go to sleep. We’re docking tomorrow. You do want to be able to get off the ship, right?”
> 
> Yes. That’s exactly what I need to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who it is pals and friends? It's me again, back from the dead with another chapter that's more about developing your and Ace's relationship than moving the plot forward. haaaaaa..... Yeah, not much story progression today. I'm one hundred and twenty percent sure that there will be more stuff happening next chapter because you are docking, but today... today not so much. I'm not even that proud of this chapter or how I ended it, and may end up removing it for the sake of re-writing some things... but it's just been so long that I can't really handle not publishing it today, y'know? 
> 
> Anyway, as I said in the last chapter's notes, there's a lot of you and Ace speaking and being all friendly. Again, I tried throwing humour here and there but who knows if I succeeded. I've been having quite the exhausting month and well, I tried lolol. Oh and, I don't know why I posted a drawing in the last chapter. I was bored, had time on my hands (read: procrastinating), and since I need to practice, I thought why the heck not. Why not put my noob art on the internet for ppl to judge. So there's that haha. 
> 
> Uh... not much else to say other than thank you so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments that you've gifted me. They mean heaps to me and I treasure each one. The fact that this story has 230+ is wayyy beyond what I expected to receive from this fandom/community. So... yeah! That's about it. I'll ramble some more down below haha. As if you hadn't had enough yet.
> 
> Read on!
> 
> ((also what im totally not super nervous to be posting this hahahahaha))

“Anyone want to explain why there was a fight today?”

Ace peers down at his division, all packed together tightly in the cannons area like sardines. Some shove each other for more space, but stop when his voice reaches their ears. He crosses his arms over his chest, the tattoo on his left bicep partially hidden by the bandages.

He’d been so adamant, and yet the nurse refused to give in. Cherry promised they would only stay for another day or two, but still.

Ace conceals the annoyance in his eyes under his hat as he regards the men.

So far, nobody has dared to speak.

“Well?”

A man with long, spiky blue hair leans his body against the wall with a sigh, but Ace doesn’t mind him. Masked Deuce had been the one to inform him of the quarrel with a straight-to-the-point, “Problem below deck.” And, while he was tired of this, he wanted the perpetrator to speak up for himself. Ace didn’t want the man to leave this place without bringing up a good argument.

Said man was sitting at the very back of the room, knife in his hand as he toys with a trinket. It’s a wooden carving of some sort of animal, but he can’t pinpoint what it is from his position.

The man glances up when somebody elbows him in the ribs but otherwise makes no comment. Ace’s peaceful expression morphs into an attenuate frown, which everyone notices. His division shrinks noticeably at his face, but still, nobody opens up. His left eyebrow twitches.

“Nobody is leaving this room until I get an explanation.”

At this, some of the men jolt the attacker more forcefully, wanting to escape their commander’s scrutiny. They were all well aware of the fact that even though he was kind, Ace wasn’t stupid. Being caught in a fight was profoundly frowned upon by their commander and their superiors in general. It could lead to serious punishment.

And if someone didn’t claim a single thing soon, all of them would suffer from said punishment.

 “I know there was more than one.” Ace carries on, patience thinning. An anxious murmur sweeps over the crowd. People glare angrily at your attacker, urging him to speak with impatient pokes. Unable to handle it anymore, one man braves their commander.

“He was the one that started it!” A lanky fellow pipes up from behind a few others. He stands up and points a frustrated finger to the one with the wooden carving. Your attacker calmly settles the carving on the floor and glances at him, lips taut and jaw clenched. They measure each other in silence, and Ace sighs internally at the stubbornness of his division.

Fearing another preposterous fight, Ace raises a hand to pacify the lanky man, who hastily sits down on the floor again. Some shift on their spots on top of cannons or against the wall. The man with the carving remains still.

“Yes, he was.” Ace confirms coolly, meeting the eyes of the man in question. They gaze into each other’s eyes, unwilling to relent in their fight for dominance. A tense silence hangs in the air as they weigh their chances of winning and continue their staring contest. People hold their breaths, wringing their hands and waiting for the worst to happen. To respect the commander was an unspoken rule, one everyone agreed to when their superior proved their strength in or out of battle. Disrespecting Ace would travel far, eventually reach the captain, and that’s when everyone’s day turned to shit.

 When Ace’s left eyebrow rises challengingly, the man releases a defeated sigh.

“I started the fight,” He surrenders in a tone of voice that Ace doesn’t appreciate but doesn’t comment on. It’s almost light-hearted. As if the man’s misconduct meant nothing.  The man lifts his hands in acceptance of his defeat before adding smoothly, “But he attacked you, commander.”

“ _No_. No, he didn’t.” Ace speedily crushes the assumption before it can infect the rest of the division. He could already see their expression beginning to darken at the fact that ’attack’ and ’commander’ are in the same sentence.

Ace waits for his division to process his words, eyes fixed on the one that started the fight the entire time.

“(fake name), just like a lot of you, has gone through a lot,” Ace begins, arms unfurling to fall at his sides.  The gauze wrapped around his bicep was starting to feel far too constricting. “He’s lost a lot of things. His friends, his captain, his ship… everything none of us want to lose. _Everything_ that all of us would fight to the death for.”

Some of the men bristle at the thought of losing Pops, and he too feels a fire begin to burn inside him, but he does not let it show. If his expression conveyed his thoughts of anger, it would only rile his division up even more.

 _Still_ …

Pops was their pride and joy, and losing it… Ace shook the dreadful feeling free from his shoulders.

“Then why did he push ya off the ship?” Your attacker wonders a little too loudly, and some hum similar questions. He’s genuinely concerned, but Ace hears something else underneath that layer of worry.

Ace hopes that the man won’t cross the line a third time today. The commander might be at ease, but inside the flames have branched out to the rest of his patience and seared what vestiges of it there were left.

“Yeah, why _did_ he?!” One man howls, perplexed.

“If he was so scared, why jump on the ship in the first place?”

Masked Deuce opens his mouth, but quickly realizing that this is not their ship, clamps it shut. This isn’t the Spade Pirates. Here, Ace has to handle the men alone. He drops his head to the floor with another sigh.

“I don’t know why he jumped on the ship to fight,” Ace starts, silencing his division with the strength of his voice, “But I know why he accidentally pushed me off… sort of.” He knows his last two words have weakened the argument. The scoffs from a couple an individual makes it clear as day. Ace glances furtively at the man, struggling to explain. He’s unaccustomed to shielding a person from hatred with words. Most of the time, he’s decked the offender on the jaw before they can even finish think ‘ _fuck’_ , but this is, quite obviously, different.

It’s now when his accidental eavesdropping sidles up to him slyly. The information he’d obtained from yours and Thatch’s conversation floats to the front of his mind.

He’d felt culpable, having overheard something so personal when your story was aimed at one person, but… it would come in handy now.

The men begrudgingly await his explanation.  A certain someone appears much too relaxed for his own good, but he opts to deal with him when the rest of the division has composed themselves.

“When you lose someone, or in this case, many people, it’s easy to lose yourself in the fear and anger.” He starts again, the words rolling off his tongue slowly. Ace doesn’t know where this speech is headed, but he hopes to come to a good conclusion that sticks to his division for the rest of the day. “Like I mentioned, (fake name) lost everything.”

When he stresses the last word, most expressions of distrust melt away.

“We’ve all experienced loss.” Ace carries on, “So let’s support each other. And _yes_ , I was pushed off the ship, but he jumped into the water to get me and look,” He gestures to himself with a flourish, “I’m here.”

Ace quiets down so his division has a few seconds to process his speech. He can see some of them lean closer to one another to converse, eyebrows pinched and lips downturned, but otherwise seem appeased.

Finally, when everyone is soothed, he states bluntly, “Don’t let this happen again. All of you.”

The men acknowledge his orders noisily then rise to return to their duties. Ace doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the perpetrator, but as of now, he’s done. Watching the man walk away, he tries to think of a few punishments when Deuce approaches him.

“Well done,” The blue-haired man says, voice low. His fingers brush over the mask he’s wearing, and Ace smiles at his old comrade.

“Thanks.” He returns tiredly. Having to think of speeches on the spot was not his forte.  “I should probably head back up and see what’s going on. We’ll be docking soon.”

His friend nods and slinks back to his own work, and Ace does the same, his chest much lighter than before. That was one issue addressed. It was now time to see if there were any more.

(x)

At one point during the day, sitting on the floor waiting had grown overtiring and had also most likely flattened your butt.

You’d managed to catch two hours of sleep amidst your tossing and turning, the ship’s gentle rocking to and fro lulling you to sleep. Eventually, you’d awoken with a jump, fearing that it would be too late to find the commander. But, when you’d tumbled out of bed to check through one of the portholes, the sun was thankfully beginning to set. The sky was adorned in various shades of orange, blue, and purple, and you spent a few minutes admiring the view.

Then, the sun disappeared, and you climbed back in bed, soothed and relaxed. You missed being able to sit on the deck of your ship to watch the sunset after a long day. Your crew was usually asleep except for the unfortunate soul that kept watch, and if your brain permitted it, you’d keep them company. The hours would tick by much faster when you and whoever was with you babbled on and on about nothing crucial.

By now though, there’s barely any light in the room, which makes your staring contest with the ceiling a major battle. Your eyes come around though, and after a few additional minutes of contemplating what in the bloody hell you were going to say to your commander, you sit up. Peeling the thin covers off you, you kick your legs to the side and shiver when your feet come in contact with the wooden floor.

You reach around your waist the fix your shirt, trying to smooth out any wrinkles it may have in the back. The brushing of cloth against the skin of your back is uncomfortable. So much that you can’t stand the feeling. With a frown, you pat the bed behind you searchingly. Your fingers brush the coarse material of your binding, and you sigh in relief.

Unbuttoning your shirt and tugging it off, you repeat the well-known procedure of fastening them around your chest, careful to leave some room to breathe. You hadn’t been able to find the clip in the room, so you do the next best thing and tuck the ends in so they stay.

You have to get touchier because of the darkness, but you don’t mind. A bit of obscurity isn’t going to kill you. Besides, it’s good. Darkness is good and for two reasons. First, you’re rested, which means you’ll be more alert and ready. Two, you’re positive Ace is done bossing people around, which means…

“Time to go catch this twerp,” You declare firmly, annoyance seeping into your voice when you remember your conversation with the man. Lifting your body off the bed, you slip on your shoes and head out the door, determined.

The night is fairly chilly when you sneak outside, surveying the area. There’s nobody that you can see, and it’s quiet, which is curious. Usually, there’d be few voices in the distance, laughing and singing.

Stepping closer to the railing, you grip the wood as you think. You know little about Ace, and you less about where he commonly resides. You’d seen him perched on Whitebeard’s chair, observing the crew as they work. Most often than not, he chills out on the main deck surrounded by awestruck men who want nothing more than to listen to him. You sincerely doubt he’s meandering about on the deck, but you don’t cross the place off your list. Not yet, anyway.

The ocean is calm as it sways as if it too is dozing for the night, and you focus on the noise of the water coming up to embrace the bottom of the ship as your thoughts jounced back and forth.

It’s very likely that, as a commander, he sleeps in a separate room from the rest of his division. Where exactly, you don’t know, which does dampen your resolve slightly. The lower deck was an utter maze compared to the main deck. It would take the majority of the night to even find a small clue of his whereabouts.

Shaking your head, you will yourself to remain purposeful with a grunt. There’s no way you were letting him get away today. You couldn’t let it happen, consequences be damned. If you braved Whitebeard two times, you could face Ace and demand answers.

Heading to the left, you retrace your ancient footsteps from when you explored the ship. You feel like a hunter, tracking and listening for all the little things. Too bad your prey is nowhere in sight and you have no idea where to search.

Thankfully, though, you’d carved every path you tracked during your first week into your brain. Returning to them requires a bit of time as you bring the memories to light, but it’s fine. You point in several directions, remembering all the times and things you’d witnessed while exploring. When you motion to your fourth path, your body urges you to move in that direction and you follow your instincts.

“Now, where could he be…?” A multitude of places, you brain tosses at you with a huff.

Wandering the ship at night is a bit with nowhere to go is as off-putting as it was the first time. Its mere size is enough to send your brain into overdrive and leave you a cautious mess on the floor. No one is on the deck, which is, again, quite odd, but you’re sure there’s someone on watch. The only noise accompanying you tonight is the soothing hush of the waves as white noise. When you tilt your head to the sky, stars twinkle in the dark, reminding you of an important promise.

You know you have a few seconds to spare, so you continue to stare. The stars aren’t as bright as they were back on the plank, but they still successfully shine through the pitch-black clouds rolling along lazily. Your eyes drift from one tiny dot to the other, soaking up the view.

Breathing in, you give an almost unperceivable nod.

You’re going to be fine. You’ll talk to the commander then… well, move on. It’s about time you dealt with things properly.

Your imaginary pathway leads you to the main deck, the one with the stairs bordering it. Despite not sauntering through here many times, you can picture yourself from different scenarios. When you spoke to Thatch, the party, the poker game, and today… the awful guilt trip Ace and you both hauled yourselves through, for different reasons.

You know this is the centre of the ship, where the men gather to drink and share their thoughts with whoever will hear them. Honestly, you don’t understand why you’ve chosen to venture here, but at least this is a good place to scour.

Clicking your tongue, you scan the deck one last time before turning to face the waves. You prop an elbow on the railing and nestle your chin in your palm, thinking of your possibilities.

Thankfully, you have plenty of time to spare, so you’re not too stressed out. Miffed, sure, but you’re not worried… much. You’re certainly not worried to the point that you’ll go knocking on every door, politely asking where the fuck your commander has wandered off to. Which is why you shove the idea of searching the lower deck aside. If you can’t find him today, you’ll suck it up and go there.

You rest all your weight on one foot, your knee bumping on the wood preventing you from diving head-first into the freezing water. Tapping your fingers, your brain offers one more room Ace could be located at.

The kitchen. Judging by his random bouts of hunger, it’s normal for you to guess that he’s preoccupied ransacking the pantry. But, if you take that same reason into consideration, it’s possible it’s is locked. You know what it’s like to spend months in the ocean, and Ace’s hunger is endless, so…

…

You groan, hiding your face in your arms. It’s impossible. You don’t know where to find him, which is so abnormal, because his mere presence alone is discernible across an entire ocean.

Refusing to yield to frustration, you listen to the few sounds of the night, brain slogging away as you try to come up with something.

The waves have gone silent. You couldn’t pick out the soft crashing of the water against the hull anymore, but you can hear wind. It comes and goes in loud gushes of air, sifting through what sounds like the sails.

But then, why can’t you feel it?

Straightening your spine, you survey the area. The deck, as expected, is deserted save for you. Seeing nothing, you bring your eyes to the sails and notice with a bemused sound that they’re not actually unfolded.

Confused, you shuffle towards one of the masts and gaze upwards into the night. From this position, you examine the masts and crow’s nests. You could’ve sworn the ’wind’ originated from here.

You wait for a few more seconds, then deflate when nothing occurs. Had you gone mad? Was it the saltwater getting to your brain?

Harrumphing, you’re about to return to your original spot when you detect an orange glow. It curls upward from one of the numerous crow’s nests built into the masts and disperses in a plume of smoke. What’s most shocking though, is that it’s the source of the wind-like sound.

“What is that?” You muse, narrowing your eyes at the strange source of the wind-like sound. Placing your hand on the mast, you push yourself to your tip-toes. When it shatters the quietude again, you jump visibly, unprepared for the increase in volume.

Another scattering of the gleaming, and you realize that it’s not a glow, but _flames_.

Freezing, you drop your stance, jaw falling open slightly as realization decks you in the face.

Now, you haven’t seen any fire-breathers on this ship… so…

“Holy _shit_ , finally.” You hiss triumphantly, then excitedly speed off to the nearest rigging supporting the mast then halt when your brain catches up with your exhilaration. Your body wasn’t fully healed. The scar on your side isn’t fully sealed, your leg is still wrapped in bandages, and you’re generally pretty bruised from the fight. Could you reach the top?

The ship was two times- no, ten times bigger than yours. Your ship’s rigging didn’t stretch to such lengths.

But you’d finally found him! And you’d already promised you weren’t going to let him escape your interrogation. You had to know why he was so guilty. Sure, you understood that he didn’t inform his division of the whole incident, but you knew there was more than he let on.

“Goddammit…” You punched the railing in vexation, relieving some of the tension that had invaded your frame. All words abandon you as you mull over your options, eyebrows furrowed.

There’s no other way around it.

You’re going to do this. It’s crucial that you scale this stupid rigging. If you don’t, you doubt you’ll be able to forget this ordeal and move on with your life. And you needed to journey on if you wanted to avenge your crew. That’s why you’d rowed to the middle of nowhere and altered your appearance. This wasn’t about you and never was.

You roll your shoulders, loosening the muscles while mentally preparing yourself for the challenge. You’d speak to Ace and let the ship dock at whatever island they’d masterfully pinpointed. Then, hopefully, if your ridiculous connections to the few individuals you’d met here allow, you’d bid your farewells and disappear.

With all this in your head, you grapple the ropes and hoist your body up so that your feet are planted on the painted wood of the railing. Using the strength you’d recovered, you hop in your place a couple times then begin the long ascension to your destination.

Your calloused hands ache after a minute of climbing, but you don’t quit. You’re in need of exercise, and this is the perfect way to gain muscle. Once you reach the halfway point, your breathing has evened out somewhat and the feeling of being suspended God-knows-what-height above the ground isn’t as overpowering. After such a long time, you’d all but forgotten the sensation of not having your feet planted on the floor.

Your boots thump loudly when you reach the first crow’s nest, your legs shaky from the exertion. The pain blooming in your hands pulses with each beat of your heart, and you grimace. Clenching and unclenching your hands, you soothe the throbbing in your limbs carefully.

Despite all this, though, you’re giddy at your accomplishment. You hadn’t done this in a long while, and you’d missed it. Glancing down, you grin, exuberant laughter threatening to spill because you’d done it which means your condition has improved.

Scanning the area, you listen for the familiar whoosh of the flames. The sounds are much louder up here, which merely encourages another rush of determination to explode inside you.

I swear to God, if it’s an actual fire-breather and not Fire-Fist, I’m going to jump off this ship.

And thus, you grip the ladder that acts as a part of the mast and clamber up the rest of the distance. There’s a breeze gently caressing your cheek, but it’s definitely not what had piqued your interest while on the deck.

When your hand encircles the last rung, you crane your neck to peek over the wooden railing. Holding your breath, you blink and feel the need to cry out to the heavens in victory.

There he is, tossing fire from his hands like it’s nothing.

_Success!!_

You haul your body over the stupid railing, breathing Ace’s name in a whisper. Unfortunately, you miss the puzzled sound the man produces. Your eyes watch as his head snaps to the side at the intrusion, and then you look at the floor, mouth open and prepared to speak once again.

When your feet touch the floorboards though, a burst of fire nearly roasts the hair off your head and you hear a surprised yell. When you straighten up, another spray of flames attacks you, and you barely dodge it. Ace exclaims another stream of words that you miss in your haste to dodge, and you hide behind the mast impaling the centre of the crow’s nest. Gluing your spine to the wood, you wait for the man to calm down at least a fraction, hugging your middle nervously.

Without another moment to waste, Ace smacks a hand on your hiding place and leans closer to check for the intruder. When his eyes rove over your body and travel up to your face, his eyes widen so much you fear they’re going to pop out of his head.

 “Who are y- (fake name)?!?” Ace yells, forcing a flinch from you, then smacks a hand over his mouth _._

_Well... that’s one way to greet your crew._

His eyes darken as he absorbs the view of your face covered in tape and gauze. Or at least that’s what you think it is. The man could be planning to kill you.

You peel your arms off your stomach, raising your head to look at the man in the eye. When they meet the silvery hues, you clench your jaw, unsure of how to proceed. It has now been brought to your attention that you had no plan. None whatsoever.

Not even a second passes and Ace is fussing over you, fingers carding through your hair as he checks for any harm. If you’re being truthful, you wouldn’t mind the haircut. It would only help with the strange exterior you’ve opted to go with.

 “I swear I didn’t mean to direct my fire in your direction. I’m so sorry, just -what are you doing awake?- what was I thinking-”

You stare at him incredulously as he starts patting your head, eyebrows creased in worry and eyes still impossibly wide. It’s funny because the stars you’d been so fixated with down below are now glimmering in his eyes and looking away is a Herculean task. His gaze snaps down to yours a couple times, his mouth moving rapidly as he burbles on and on contritely.

Withdrawing a step, you freeze when Ace places a hand on your shoulder to keep you still. You lean to the side, shaking your head when his grip tightens. Ensnaring his wrist with a hand, you hold it in a gentle yet firm hole, unafraid.

If you’re honest with yourself, it’s a miracle you haven’t crapped your pants yet. Were you in any other mental state, you might’ve, but you’re so glad to have found him that… you’re not shaken at all.

Your actions fracture the panicked spell Ace is locked in, and his mouth stops mid-sentence. You can feel his frantic pulse beneath your thumb; an erratic beating that your body has familiarized itself with during the past few weeks. It’s unnerving to feel it in a person like him, so confident and fierce.

Ace’s arm is stiff as it sluggishly returns to its rightful place at his side. Opening your own mouth, you release his wrist, words ghosting past your lips.

“I came to see you.” You explain, voice automatically doing what you’d trained it to do. “I couldn’t find you after you left, so I waited and… then I saw the flames and…” Trailing off, you resist the urge to smile sheepishly.

The commander blanches at your words, lips parted as if words were sitting on the tip of his tongue with nowhere else to go. Eventually, after much awkwardness, his posture caves and his shoulders droop. Ace rubs the back of his head, then grabs his hat and takes it off, letting it hang from his neck.

Both of you are quiet, like hours prior to meeting Cherry in the sick bay. The thought of the woman uncovers the particular feeling that sat in your stomach like a stone. A feeling you thought you’d buried.

Heat floods your system, and just like before, the emotion injects fractals of ice into your veins. Your brain registers both these sensations and a cold, bitter anger bubbles up your throat. Panic seeps into your bones at your stupidity and crazed hormones (it was always the hormones… right?), and you stamp the feeling ’til it’s nothing. Nothing but a mote of stupid dust.

Shaking his head, Ace grips the railing of the crow’s nest and bends over the barrier, looking at something that you can in way perceive.

“So you decided to climb up here, unannounced, while I’m throwing fire everywhere?” He asks, and despite his words, he doesn’t seem angry. In fact, you think you can hear a strange mix of fondness and amusement that makes your shoulders bunch up in embarrassment.

“Well, I-” You stammer, brain reeling at his observations. Observations that you should’ve had duly noted before scrambling up here like an idiot. You’d been so fervent that you hadn’t actually made your presence known.

Ace’s head swivels as his attention is drawn back to you, mirth tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry…” You mumble after a second failed attempt at defending you and your intentions. Ace’s grin stretches further across his lips, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. He chuckles when you cross your arms over your chest indignantly and avert your (eye colour) eyes everywhere that isn’t him.

“It’s fine.” He assures gently in a voice that just doesn’t belong to him. Ace peers down at the deck, quiet as he is pulled back into his ruminations.

Oh God, he’s still mad at me.

“How’d you get up here so quietly?” Ace inquires unexpectedly, which brings you back to reality. You stare at the place he’s peering down into, immediately regretting when you become aware of just how high you fucking are, and shrug.

“I just… did.” You answer, then elaborate… sort of… not really. “I just climbed, I guess.” Way to go, (name).

“Huh,” He nods, fuelling your embarrassment because you know he’s saying that to make you think he understood, and then sends you a small smile. Even in this darkness, you can see how his cheeks are tinged with pink when he laughs or grins. You struggle to mirror the gesture.

Beneath your feet, the ship sways, and you feel sickness yank at your stomach roughly. Wrapping an arm around the mast, you glare down at the ocean with a scowl. It has to start acting like a dick when you finally stumble upon your commander. Thanks, disconcerting, endless depth of murky water that conceals every sea creature capable of killing you.

Meanwhile, Ace watches you wrestle your nausea with a raised eyebrow. The gleam in his eyes is still there, and you both know that he’s entertained as can be.

“You get used to it after a while,” Ace says softly, calmly resting his weight on the railing to prove his point. You curse at him internally for making things look so easy all the damn time.

“Yeah, I know…” You reply, feel ing another tug in your stomach when the ship rocks again. At one point, you liberate the poor mast from your chokehold and inch closer to your companion.

“Were you a lookout back with your crew?”

You focus your attention on Ace again, blinking in mild surprise at the inquiry but also quite ready for the question. Scanning his face, you wait for his ill intentions to show in his eyes or in a smirk or…

…Sigh.

There’s none of that. In his visage, you spot keen interest, driven by a thirst for information about the strange girl who isn’t really a girl in this case. Really, you don’t believe that Ace will hand out whatever you share with him to the first person he crosses. Still, there’s the chance, so you have to be mindful of what you say.

Replaying the memory with Thatch in your head, you make sure that you’re not messing everything up by telling him a completely different story. You remember the small details you’d relayed to the man with the striking hairstyle, and store them for when it’s time to share them again.

“I… I guess.” You admit, “I’m sort of doing the same thing here. Sort of.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up anything depressing, I just…”

“What?” You place a finger behind your ear, bringing your body closer to his. Ace clears his throat and tries again, words rushed and barely decipherable.

“I said, I…”

“Commander, I can’t hear you if you mumble.”

Ace shifts, a deep frown replacing the bright smile you’re so accustomed to. You stare at him, befuddlement and frustration morphing together to create an expression that Ace can’t confront for some odd reason. Your face falls at this revelation, and nerves slither up your spine mockingly.

“I heard you… when you spoke to Thatch… a while ago.” He concedes, and then waves his hands hastily, “But I didn’t mean to, I promise!”

“Oh.” You heave, lips pursing in distaste. How you hadn’t been aware of his presence when you’d been with Thatch is unsettling. It means that anyone could’ve been watching you from a distance. Which means every time you’ve thought you were truly by your lonesome, someone might’ve been cackling in the background at your pathetic attempts to get your life back together.

Swallowing past the anxious lump in your throat, you adjust your collar and inhale.

“It’s… it’s fine.” You say stiffly, toeing at the floor. The ship leans to the side again, but this time it doesn’t even faze you.

You don’t know if it’s fine. Is it fine? He’d done so much for you; you weren’t going to let one mistake ruin your… friendship. But, still, if more people knew about your secret that was… fucking great, wasn’t it?

Rolling your shoulders to rid your body of the sharp tingles, you clutch the hem of your shirt, pulling it down self-consciously.

“No… I should’ve said something, but…” Ace denies your dismissal with guilt plastered all over his-

Guilt.

 _Guilt_.

“No, really, it’s okay. It’s not like you tried to eavesdrop… right?” You ask, that well-known irritation rearing its ugly head again when his expression doesn’t change. Damn it, what the actual hell-

“Of course not!” He blurts without a second thought, “I was just passing by and-”

“Okay, then tell me why you said sorry before?” You interrupt him as kindly as you’re able to, not wanting to forget why the fuck you were flipping the ship upside down a second time.

Ace’s mouth quits functioning as he processes your question, and then, “(fake name), I already told you… I sent you down there without informing the rest of the division…”

“But you didn’t have to. You didn’t have to do that for me.” You insist sadly, a balloon of absolute panic and stress inflating within your chest. Now that you’re finally here, your trepidation has rammed your resolution off the surface of the Earth.

“(fake name), I am the commander. It’s my job to keep my division up to date.” He argues, and you realize that this battle you’re not going to win. His argument is perfectly sensible either way, and you can’t back yourself up.

Instead, you utter, “That’s not all, is it?” You knew it wasn’t, you just didn’t know what.

“…”

“I-I… I get that you’re the commander and whatever.” Ouch, your throat was starting to burn. Still, you truck through your unease, “But even now, you’re still…” You make an unsteady series of hand gestures as you try to convey your meaning.

“I’m still…?” Ace queries quietly, drawing himself to his full height. You shrink when you see how he dwarfs you, but refuse to back down.

“You’re not acting the way you’re supposed to act.” You ramble, gesticulating wildly.

“’The way I’m supposed to act?’” Ace demands incredulously, and you swiftly falter, eyes scrunching shut. Ugh, wrong thing to say. Just… how in the actual hell can you explain that this, this absurd guilt isn’t him?

“No… I-”

“(fake name),” Ace begins, exasperated, and claps a hand on your shoulder. Your eyelids split apart, and you gaze up at him. His expression hasn’t changed. Goddamnit.

“The reason I’m so…” He motions to himself, using your lack of an explanation to his advantage, “Is because I didn’t want to see you hurt. I sent you down there, thinking that you’d be fine, but no. I… made a wrong choice, and…”

Insecurity bleeds into his features, and you finally understand.

“Do you not like being a commander?” You ask, head cocked to the side. Ace splutters loudly at your accusation.

“Wha- what? That’s not- (fake name), that’s not what I was saying…” Ace breathes, putting some distance between the two of you.

“Then…” Then why is he so… bothered by a single mistake?

“Never mind… I… I understand.” You assure him. In reality, you don’t. You’re so confused by everything that’s happened that you don’t know where to begin. Everything is such a mess lately that it’s impossible to untangle it.

Both of you provide each other space and time to reflect, securing your thoughts inside your bodies.

“…Why are there bandages wrapped around your torso?” His voice is so… muted… compared to what you’d seen from him. When he was conversing with Marco, his voice had carried far beyond what it does here.

Then his words sink in.

“What?”

“When you saved me from the water… I saw bandages sticking out of your shirt.” Ace explains, facing you with a tired look on his face.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you don’t let your shock shine through. An innocent, expecting look has you muttering a quiet ’oh…’ as you lift up your shirt a minuscule amount.

You reveal your new battle scar to your commander, shrugging half-heartedly. “This old thing was being a jerk again. Cherry said I would be fine from now on.”

“Really?” Ace straightens up, and the hint of a grin graces your eyes. “That’s good.”

You offer him a smile, which he, holy shit, reciprocates kindly. His cheeks redden, and he chortles, voice stronger than before. For a reason unbeknownst to you, your chest loses some of its weight at the sight.

“Must’ve hurt, though.” Ace tacks on, sympathetic.

Seizing this as a chance to set both of you on a new path, you scoff jokingly. “Pfft… it’s nothing. Really, I’ve had worse.”

This time, Ace’s soft smile is what you would consider normal. It’s wide, crooked, and almost proud in a way. “I believe you.”

Serenity floods your being, and you turn to the ocean. The ship is still swaying, but the feeling is distant; a mere nuisance in the most covert recesses of your mind.

“How are you feeling? Still dizzy?” Ace prompts, concern lacing his voice. You shake your head.

“I think I’m okay now.” You’re not that nauseous and, thankfully, your throat has recovered from the barrage of talking you’d done. So yeah, you’re okay.

Ace hums to confirm he’s heard and you are silent again.

“Why are you up here, anyway? You never explained.” You shoot at him, and Ace chuckles.

“Training. I couldn’t sleep, and it was our turn to keep watch, so…”

“Training… up here…” You muse, trying not to laugh. “You’re not worried you’ll set the mast or the sails on fire?”

“I-” Ace begins, prepared to counter your accusation with a reasonable explanation… one that he wasn’t in possession of. “Yeah… maybe not the best idea, huh?”

“Not at all,” You agree, fighting to keep your laughter in check.  “Any other reason as to why you’re up here?”

“Thinking,” Ace answers truthfully, and you’re about to ask him about what when he marches over to the ladder that leads back to the deck. Your face must’ve been rather funny because Ace laughs. “Come on, let’s take a walk or something. It’s boring up here.”

You found the crow’s nest quite quaint and… lovely actually. Hand gripping the railing, you crane your neck to squint at the deck below you.

“No, I… I think I’m alright.” You mumble.

Ace’s clambering down the ladder comes to an unwanted stop at your mumbling. He arches a brow in your direction teasingly. It is a face you return by side-eying him suspiciously.

“You climb up here but can’t get back down?” Ace wonders out loud, and you glare at him, heat gradually rising from your neck up to your cheeks.

“I can get down.” You grumble, closing the distance between you and the ladder. Ace laughs at you again, and a smile breaks through your disgruntled appearance. Lowering yourself to the same level as his head, you wait for him to start his descent before climbing down.

Both of you arrive at the first crow’s nest, and with a miffed sniff, you shove past him jokingly and begin the remainder of the decline. The rigging jerks at your weight, and you act as if you’re completely unperturbed by it. Ace rests his weight on the mast while you work, hat back on his head so you can’t see his eyes.

Then…

“See you on the deck!” Ace’s sentence becomes muted the second he leaps off the crow’s nest with the biggest shit-eating grin you’d ever been a spectator to in your life.

Are you serious right now.

Jaw slack, your eyes bounce between the place he’d just vacated and the man standing on the deck with his hands on his hips complacently. Ace uses a hand to shade his eyes from some non-existent light as he observes your long trek down, his hat back to being slung around his bulky shoulders.

You grumble the entire time, cursing devil-fruit users for their tendency to baffle you to no end. One can transform into a flaming blue phoenix, now this guy can free-fall without breaking a sweat. What else is there on this ship?

Ace motions for you to come over, a smug glint in his mercurial eyes that prompts a scoff from your lungs. Even so, you do without hesitation, losing fragments of your dignity along the way. Just how can he do the things he does?

When you are finally in front of each other again, you shove a finger so close to his face you almost poke his eye. “Don’t you dare laugh…” You warn when his lips twitch upward, peals of laughter stifled by a hand. He sucks in a breath and exhales to cool off, much to your relief and to his benefit. Both of you might be at different levels in terms of vigor, but you can still stand your ground… maybe.

“So… where are we headed…?” Comes your hesitant question after seconds of quietness.

Ace scratches the back of his head pensively, gears in his head spinning. 

“This way,” Ace announces with a finger extended in the direction of a place you probably won’t have a clue on.

Both of you move in tandem, walking steadily beside each other. You refrain from voicing any more of your thoughts, unsure if Ace would like to converse or not. He’s a social person, that much you can tell, but…

“Did I ever tell you about my little brother?” Oh. Well, never mind then. He’s willing to talk, and about his brother, too.

“Your brother…?” You parrot back, head swivelling towards Ace just as he nods vigorously. His pride is apparent, if the way he’d suddenly brought up the matter was anything to go by.

“He started sailing a little while ago.” Ace states simply, excitement radiating off his being in waves. You can’t help but feel a little bit thrilled as well.

“Really now? How do you know?” You inquire, intrigued by this new information.

“Well, he’s just recently-” Suddenly, the steady stream of words comes to an unwanted stop, and Ace’s feet glue themselves to the floor. He fixes the surroundings ahead of him with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

“…Ace?” He doesn’t respond to your voice. The man shakes his head, eyes screwed shut as if something awful had just transpired and he couldn’t look anymore.

“Ace, are you okay…?” You trail off, approaching your commander timidly. Had you done something wrong? Did he forget something at the crow’s nest?

“I-”

And then he fell.

Just like that, he flopped down on the floor.

“Holy fuck- Ace?” You blurt, panic swelling in your chest when he doesn’t sit up and laugh, claiming that it was all a joke. Your head whips back and forth, expecting Haruta or Thatch or someone along those lines to jump out from a hiding spot, grinning.

Nobody shows themselves and Ace is still on the floor.

“Oh no, _no no_ —” Kneeling down, you flipped Ace’s limp body so that he was on his back.  His hat tumbled off his head, allowing his dark hair to fall on the floor. You stare, eyes wide like platters, at the recumbent form in front of you. He’s still breathing, that much you can tell, but just… what the fuck?! Was he not feeling well? Was that it? Did he faint because something happened to him and he was hiding it from you?!

“Ace, what the fuck, _Ace_ -” You ramble on, cupping his cheek with a hand. The skin of his cheek is far too warm, but then again he is a man of fire. When he doesn’t wake up, you smack his face lightly, fear clinging to your gut like a disease. What the actual hell made him faint?

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you lift his upper half off the floor, brushing his hair off his face. Your eyes sweep over his visage frantically as you hope for a sign of consciousness. His lips are parted, his skin feels hot under your palm.

“ _Ace_?!” You call again, your voice cracking at the amount of effort it took to keep it deepened. Hurriedly, you press two fingers to his neck, desperate for the even beating of his pulse.

Just as you’re about to drop him to scream for help, he twitches in your arms. Your breath hitches in your throat in anticipation. You think he’s awaking but in reality…

“Oh my fucking God,” You wheeze, anger and relief punching you straight in the gut. When another melodious snore reverberated within your head, you clap a hand over your mouth. Seriously, you could do with a couple hours of crying because why the fuck was the world this way?

…The stupid idiot had fallen asleep.

The seconds it took for you to realize was admittedly a bit embarrassing, but after everything you’d gone through, it’s normal for you to freak out…. Right?

Heaving a sigh, you stare down at the man snoring peacefully in your arms. Now that you’re not confirming he’s alive, you feel the need to slap him so hard he bears a red mark on his face for weeks. But, of course, you don’t. He’s been far too kind for you to do that to him.

You lay him on the floor, curling your hands into your lap anxiously as you wait for him to stir. If anyone were to see you now… well, there’s a high chance they’d kill you for downing the second division commander. And if anyone had seen you any sooner, when you were cradling his body… now that would have been bad.

Cherry’s joke about you being a couple in distress floats into view, and, strangely, you flush, heat slithering up your neck and settling in your cheeks. Shoving the memory aside, you patiently sit there, expecting Ace’s return to reality.

Eventually, he does, not without an elongated groan and a good, languid stretch. You pick his hat off the floorboards as his brain catches up, thumbing the rim nervously.

“Ace?” You say his name for the hundredth time, frowning when his response is a simple “NnnghH”… whatever that means.

“You uh… fell asleep… like… right now.” You explain, handing him his hat tremulously. He paws at it, dropping it on his chest as he yawns. This situation is so comical you can’t help but crack a pained grin.

He tries speaking, but another yawn interrupts him as he sits up, blinking blearily. Scratching his chin, he regards you bemusedly as you continue to stare awkwardly. It’s a good ten seconds of staring, you’d guess.

Then, everything comes flooding back and he scrambles to stand.

“ _Crap_ \- sorry!” His apology comes out rushed, “That was my narcolepsy!”

“Uh… what?” Whatever this ’narcolepsy’ thing was, it didn’t appear too… good… considering he passed out of the blue.

“I uh… fall asleep at random times.” Ace elaborates sheepishly, patting his pants free from wrinkles and extending a hand so you can get off the floor. Taking it, you lug your body up and force your legs to support you.

“That… well, that would explain… this.”

“I didn’t scare you, did I?” He laughs weakly, raking his hands through his hair. “I know I’ve freaked out some people.”

“Oh, no.” You shake your head, feigning serenity. “No, I wasn't scared at all.” Of _course_ not. You're _unflappable_. 

“That’s good,” Ace chortles, and you’d already taken note of this, but the red in his cheeks is different. It’s bolder.

_He’s blushing._

“Yeah,” You grin, oddly amused by your observation and the fact that he blushed. A man so confident in his skill was blushing because of something so minor. Yeah, you’d seen him blush before, but…

Ace starts talking again, words piling out of his mouth rapidly. You’re too far in the maze that was your brain to listen, working your way through pointless thoughts and what was important.

_He’s embarrassed?_

_(name), for the love of fuck, can you stop trying to cling to this place._

“-you should go to sleep, I think.” Ace’s words finally register in your mind, and you blink stupidly at him.

“Huh?”

Ace sighs, peals of faint laughter ghosting past his lips.

“See, I’ve kept you up for too long.” He nudges you with an easy grin, then reiterates, “I said you should go to sleep. We’re docking tomorrow. You do want to be able to get off the ship, right?”

_Yes. That’s exactly what I need to do._

“Oh… yeah, right.” You mumble, eyebrows creasing. “What about you?”

“I’m gonna stay up a while longer,” Ace says, throwing his arms back as he stretches again. His back arches, and you have to force your eyes to remain on his freckled face. You’d already done your fair share of staring at the party and having him discover the fact that you did would be embarrassing.

Still, you can’t help but sneak a furtive glance at his abdomen.

_How do you even get that much muscle?_

Clearing your throat, you act as if you’re oh, so exhausted by the night’s events. “I guess this is when we say goodnight.” Ace shares another laugh with you, and when it fades away, he meets your eye again.

“Goodnight, (fake name).” Ace bids, a smile plastered on his face. You don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not —you very well could be, who knows- but you think you spot the same fondness from before at the med bay. It’s a warm look that brings nothing but reassurance. 

Your heart flutters in its cage, and you bid him a breathless goodnight as you inch back. You stare into each other's eyes, understanding and a new sense of mutual respect keeping you both from looking away. You’re not too on board with the idea of leaving him, but you’d completed your mission. Talk to him, find out why he was guilty (even if you knew there was more—), and then… go. And so that’s what you do when he waves one last time, your eye-contact shattered as he focuses on the sky. 

Briskly, you arrive at your room, shutting the door and pressing your spine against it. Your head thumps loudly when it collides with the wood, but you don’t care.

You’re buzzing with happiness, but you’re also terrified beyond belief. These two emotions don’t really get along very well. You swear you hear another voice howling at you, enraged at your stupidity.

But you’re so… content. Content with knowing that you’d fixed what was wrong and that you and Ace parted ways on good terms. It’s weird, but it feels like your heart is lighter.

Maybe you _could_ do something right.

(x)

“ _LAND HO!”_

You hefted the box of tools higher, gripping the handles as men worked to repair a portion of the ship. Apparently, during the scuffle with the marines, a couple of stray cannonballs had damaged the ship and they’d just mustered the energy to mend it. That’s why there was an ill-timed stampede of men and tools yesterday.

The seething mass of sailors on the deck cheered with the man who’d announced the two words. Exuberant laughter broke loose on the ship as everyone celebrated. You smiled politely, handing one of the men in your division a couple nails when they requested them.

You didn’t know what Ace did to extinguish whatever hatred the division regarded you with, but you were forever thankful. Sure, there was still the odd look here and there, but throughout the day, those vanished too. It was shocking, seeing as most of them had egged your attacker on during the fight, but life worked in strange ways.

Whitebeard appeared a lot healthier today. The weariness that once clouded his eyes had all but washed away, replaced with hearty, booming laughter that shook the entire ship. Commanders flocked around him, yours included, conversing and discussing plans for the next time they set sail. Some nurses sifted through sheaves of papers, jabbering among each other. They too seemed at ease now that the captain was back on his throne.

You noticed this change in attitude the most in Cherry. The taut line of her lips was now a full smile and her eyes didn’t sport a hard edge. You were happy for her.

“(fake name), I need some more wood here!”

Instantly, you ditch the box of tools and rush to a pile of wood. They’re much taller than you, but you manage to grip several before delivering them to the man that asked for them.

“Thanks,” The blue haired man says from his position by the railing. His navy blue mask gleams as the sun casts its rays upon you both.

“No problem,” You return, and are in the process of spinning around to leave when he stops you. Puzzled, you watch him smile carefully.

“How are your injuries?” The man directs your attention to the gauze taped to the side of your face. You shrug, shoulders complaining but not as much as the day prior.

“Healing,” You state, fingers brushing over you’re the gauze delicately. Cherry had replaced the bandages an hour ago, and when she was done, she kicked you back out with a jocular warning.

_“Don’t you go around starting fights now.”_

As if.

“Good, good.” The man nods, then, with a quiet mumble, speaks up again, “Sorry for not intervening. I ran to get Ace the second the guy threw the first punch.”

So _he_ was the one that informed the second division commander. You were wondering who’d had the brains to do such a thing.

“Don’t worry about it.” You assure, waving your hands. This topic is not worth anyone’s energy anymore, especially yours. You’re okay with dismissing all thoughts of yesterday.

A grin graces the man’s face. He sticks his hand out for you to shake. “I’m Masked Deuce, by the way.” Accepting his offer, you grasp his large hand with your own, shaking it firmly.

“A pleasure, Masked Deuce. Thank you for saving my ass yesterday.” You reply earnestly, to which he chuckles lowly.

“Just Deuce will do.” Both you and your new acquaintance release each other’s hands, smiling at each other. You’re not sure how to make the conversation move onwards, and thankfully, you don’t have to. There are people demanding several items and you don’t want to upset them with your tardiness.

Mouthing a farewell, you and Deuce set back to work. The island has grown tenfold during your conversation, and you can see other smaller ships moored to the pier. Today, the sun is as merciless as ever, its beams of light heating up everything they touched. Most men were shirtless because of this, and you wished you could do the same. If it weren’t for your secret and gender, you might’ve acted upon such a desire.

Many of the men in your division became easier to approach as the minutes waned and the ship drew closer to land. Even so, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. The way some people could drift from one group to the next and fit in without a care eluded you.

But, as of now, that was the last of your worries.

Resting your clammy hands on the newly repaired portion of the railing, you crane your neck, inviting the warm gushes of wind to violently lap at your face. Your eyes slipped shut against the breeze, body relaxing save for your hands, which were holding you up. You probably looked ridiculous, but you didn’t really care much for the crew’s opinions right now.

You wouldn’t need to in a very short time, anyway.

Eyes fluttering open, you chance a glance at Whitebeard. The second you do, shame bubbles up from within your gut all the way up to your throat. Icy fingers clutch your heart, contaminating the pleasant buzz in your veins.

You didn’t know why you were feeling this way.

The entire morning, from waking up, to eating, to helping with repairs, your attitude fluctuated from happiness to an overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety. Whenever your mood dropped down to dread, it felt like a knife was cutting you open. Each time someone smiled at you, a gash would pierce your composure. And each time it happened, the voice from last night would yowl and make sure you knew just how pathetic you were being. How stupid you were being for wanting a new place to label home.

If people took note of your mood swings, they didn’t comment on them. Most were too busy to even ask if you were okay, anyway.

Releasing the railing, you turn away just enough so that the island is outside your line of vision. Seagulls shrieked above you, the sounds attacking your eardrums annoyingly.

“Are you excited?”

You startle, whirling in the direction of the voice with a lurch of your aching heart.

Thatch, in all his commander glory, bursts out laughing at your reaction. Immediately, you feel your body unwind and you blow out a breath to cool off. Thatch sobers up when you face the summer island instead of answering.

“Hey, are you all right, (fake name)?” He asks, concern dripping from his voice. Thatch reaches out to place a hand on your shoulder and to avoid concerning him more, you tolerate the touch. It feels like acid on your skin.

“Yes.” Your reply is far too curt for it to seem truthful, but Thatch doesn’t pry. He towers over you when he sidles up to you, and déjà vu punches you straight in the face.

“You know that if you need to talk about something, I’m here, right?” He prompts, voice reduced to a murmur so that others don’t overhear how meek you are.

“Yes.” You restate, composure rupturing when Thatch’s visage falls a little more. Why the _fuck_ were you like this? You’d only been here like… a month, almost, and your presence wasn’t even that prominent. You’d lurked in the shadows for at least half your stay. Thus, it was a miracle nobody forgot the girl lying straight to everyone’s faces in a day.

So _why_ was it so difficult? What did these people have that made it unfeasible to escape them and their amicability?

“All right,” Thatch breathes, patting the railing with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Take care, (fake name).” He clapped you on the shoulder, then sauntered back to the captain.

You didn’t watch him go. Instead, you studied the brilliant ocean. It was much less daunting to stare at its depths when the water wasn’t pitch black.

And, among those waves, your reflection joined you in your solitude. You measured each other helplessly, despondent and anxious for a solution to all your problems. Unsurprisingly, it provided none, and you were left to your own devices as the island neared and time ran low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look we're down here now.  
> So yeah, lots of dialogue like I promised last chapter. And more unsolved internal conflict lmao. I feel kinda bad for you; you just don't get a break, do you? Again, I hope to have the story move forwards a bit more in the next chapter, and looking at my plans, it looks like it is. I'm going to leave AO3 for a good long while (probs an hour or two lol) so that I can have a fresh mind when I edit this chapter.  
> Also, I'm sincerely hoping that the --slight-- changes in your attitude (a.k.a, the way you view Ace) are noticeable? Sure, there's that comment about the abs, but there's more to it... kinda? I don't know. I tried. I'll come back and edit this lol.  
> Thank you for everything!! I need to do homework now haha.
> 
> (also, jayeNay, pal, buddy, bombard me with your criticism!! I need it lmao) ((everyone can do this tbh. it'll only help me get better so i won't be mad in the slightest lol))


	12. Conflict and Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *opens door*
> 
> ...
> 
> *shuffles inside room and sits down on a conveniently placed chair*
> 
> Why, hello there. 
> 
> So, now that I've found a way to begin today's word vomit, I just want to say I'm?? So?? Sorry??? for taking so long with this chapter??? I honestly don't know where half of the year has gone or how I'm even here, today, writing this? These past few months have been such a rollercoaster lmao. From finals to other things, I just... I don't know. All I know is that it's been increasingly difficult to sit down and write ANYTHING for more than ten minutes because the inspiration just isn't there, y'know? 
> 
> Of course, that doesn't mean I'm abandoning this or any of my stories. That's not even an option because I'm just so in love with writing this and just love to hear from you guys in general, so... AnYwAy. 
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we? Okay, so, a brief summary because you all know I can ramble like there's no tomorrow: I've had more than half of it written for monTHS lmao, it's 22 pages on word, so please take your time lol, and it is definitely not my best, either. I had a lot of trouble with wording and how I wanted to write and just braining, so if you see a lot of mistakes or things that are off.... yeah. That's why. In terms of plot, this chapter moves it forward and there are new things introduced, so there's that, as well. 
> 
> There's not much else I can handle today, to be honest, mainly because I've been the equivalent of an active, anxious bee that ends up crashing into several windows and other barriers - those being writer's block, lack of inspiration, and other crap lmao. 
> 
> Other than that, thank you so so so much for being so patient and for all your support. I appreciate every comment, kudo (265!!!! that's so crazy), bookmark that you all leave on this story. Sorry for taking so long. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves and well, y'know, read on!
> 
> [chapter title may be changed if i come up with a better one lolol]

The ship arrived at the summer island in a matter of minutes, a time that you spent working with your division and sick with anxiety. Every time you averted your gaze elsewhere, briefly distracted by a crew member, and glanced at the island, it grew in size. And every time you tore your gaze away, the apprehension gnawing at your composure would worsen.

_If I leave now, would they come after me? I haven’t purposefully hurt anyone… and besides, what’s one person going to matter?_

When the town by the beach and the townspeople milling about entered your line of vision, you excused yourself to your room. In there, you spent the remaining time with your hand fisted in your hair, tugging at the roots as if you could magically pull a solution out of your head.  

The air was hot, which made each inhale hurt, and the expanding of your lungs felt unnatural. You keeled over when you heard the excited cheers and chatter outside, the ship finally docked. Men let the bridges down and flooded the town, including the nurses, and still, you refused to go outside.

Eventually, the racket lessened to a distant rumble as hundreds of men stampeded off the ship. It gave you some time to ponder over everything, with one thought resting at the top of the pile.

_Will they notice me if I’m not there?_

It wasn’t very likely. While delivering necessities and tools to those that requested them, you conversed with several people. Soon enough, a circle of men in your division invited you to join them and you accepted, even if you felt like a foreigner among them still. They asked you questions about your health, your injuries, and even offered sincere apologies. It all happened so overwhelmingly quickly you almost forgot everything troubling you. Almost.

But _even_ _so_ , you hadn’t done anything to truly wow any of them. You kept to yourself for most of the time, partially because you were figuring out how to be, well, _manly_ , you supposed. Everyone here was at least half a head taller than you, excluding Haruta, which did make you feel self-conscious more than once. Could they see the difference in your figure? Did your stature befuddle or concern them?

Wanting to keep the questions regarding your health and whatever else at bay, you focused on gently guiding conversations away from you, but even that was hard. Were you nodding too much, smiling too little? Was your chuckling too forced? Probably. Your throat complained each time you did so.

It had all been maddeningly exhausting. Joining the circle of men reminded you just how much time you’d spent all alone. How little interaction you’ve had save for Thatch, Ace, a few other commanders, uh, two other crew members and the captain himself.

And, among all your most recent acquaintances, you searched the crowd for Thatch.

Your conversation with him had done nothing but double your panic, but you also appreciated his kindness. By no means were you close friends, but the memory of the warm smile and concern in his eyes made it feel like it. If he hadn’t sauntered off to Whitebeard, the dam preventing the tears from spilling would’ve crumbled and everything would’ve gone to shit.

You never did find him, shockingly enough, but you came to the conclusion that he was in the kitchen. That’s where you’d heard him laughing and cooking with other cooks who are also part of his division.

Now, with very few individuals on sight and nerves less frayed, you faced the world again. The temperature in this island was ten times hotter than it had been minutes prior, but you didn’t really mind. Long hours of work with the sun threatening to melt your very bones had given you plenty of resistance to this weather.

Your loose white shirt fluttered in the breeze as you tentatively approached the railing, hand curling around the wood. From your position, it was easy to scope out the market and houses dotting the land.

Townspeople waved their arms in greeting, baskets of fruits and nuts tucked in the crooks of their arms. Some seemed wary, and some clasped their children’s hands and made their escape to their abodes. It was all very cluttered, even more so now that there were unruly men and nurses all over.

An impenetrable forest forms a half circle around the town, lush and varying in its shades of greens and browns. Behind that, an enormous mountain far bigger than anything you’d seen sits in what is presumably the centre of the island.  At the peak, billows of smoke curl upwards into the sky, disappearing seconds later.

 _Strange_ , you thought. You’d never seen a volcano before and you had to admit it was an impressive, albeit scary sight.

Brushing a lock of stray hair from your face, you observed the scene carefully, then let your eyes roll to the docks. Men worked on their ships, some unloading fish and crates while some repaired whatever damage they’d sustained on their journey. By the looks of it, stealing a small boat was going to be difficult while the sun was still shining.

You sighed, drumming your fingers on the railing and biting your lip. There was no way you were going to leave unnoticed during the daytime. With the entire crew off the ship and your division up and about, you would be recognized. To add to this whole mess, Ace would be among them all.

…and did you really want to muck things up with your commander after yesterday?

Memories of Ace’s welcoming smile and laughter penetrate the haze of dread and fear clogging your mind. His smug grin as he leaps off the crow’s nest and the blush colouring his cheeks after he woke up from his impromptu nap are there, too. Unwittingly, a small, fond smile graces your face.

 _Yeah_ , no. You didn’t want to mess things up again.

... _I guess I can stay for a while longer._

You would stay until night came. Then, when everyone was asleep, you’d steal a ship from the docks and leave. It’s a challenge you’re not sure you’re willing to face, but if you could go unnoticed for a good hour or two on a ship like Whitebeard’s, you think you can pull it off. The thought of those first few days on his ship erases the smile from your face, and you lower your eyes to the floor.

They’d kept you alive for reasons that you’re still unsure of. Whitebeard had ordered everyone to leave you room to collect yourself. He’d invited you into his crew, but for what reason? Did he feel pity? _To become his daughter?_ You supposed you understood, but why would he want someone so weak and… meek on his ship?

You didn’t have whatever everyone else had. You weren’t strong or confident, or even a good leader. Even your bounty hadn’t even been that high.  You didn’t have anything that put you in the same pedestal as these people.

You weren’t a real Whitebeard pirate.

You were just… you. And yet the old man refused to view things the same way as you.

Your division is long gone by now, but you don’t mind. Men like Whitebeard’s crew are easy to locate, and not just because of the noise level. Everyone on the ship had a unique appearance that only they seemed to be able to pull off. And, it was safe to say that nobody could fight you on the fact that Blamenco was one of, if not _the_ strangest individual in the crew. Spotting him among the crowd would be derisorily easy, so… you weren’t worried about losing your way.

Descending down one of the lowered bridges, you spared the captain’s throne a quick glance. Only one commander lingered behind with the captain, who drank merrily from a large bottle now that the nurses weren’t there to chide him. Marco, perched on the left armrest of Whitebeard’s chair, talked away to the old man. A peaceful expression you hadn’t seen before decorated his features, erasing all lines of stress and replacing his bored expression with a livelier one. You hadn’t seen him in a little while.

Moving on, you walked the rest of the bridge and entered the small town, brain absorbing the scenery as you walked. People ignored you as you strolled by, probably because you looked nothing like a Whitebeard pirate, but you didn’t care. Recognition was the last thing you wanted right now.

Men and women bartered and exchanged goods in the town square, eyes bright with glee as they quenched their thirst for new goods and products. You shuffled past them all, eying the stores and their wares in mild interest.

Up ahead, you spotted Ace, Haruta, and Thatch marching up and down the place excitedly. Ace looked like he wanted to go to a faraway restaurant, where lots of others were headed, but Thatch had something else in mind. You moved past them, hiding your face behind a hand guiltily. You weren’t in the mood for chatter after your conversation with Thatch.

You’re a good twenty steps ahead of them when someone yells your name.

“(fake name)!” Ace’s familiar voice called after you. You were shocked at how easily you recognized it above all the noise.

Painfully, you turn around and face your commander, barely hearing the _‘think fast!’_ he hollers your way as he hurls something at you. Yelping, you catch a small, red bag that jingles metallically. Glancing at it with pinched brows, you focus on Ace again, who is smiling and motioning for you to open it. You do, hesitantly pouring some of its contents into your hands.

Coins pile noisily into your palm, prompting a questioning look from you. You open your mouth to say that you don’t need this, you don’t deserve them, your eyes back on the commander, but he beats you to it.

“Spend them wisely!”

And then he’s off with his pals, chatting with whoever approaches him and leaving you to gape after him. Shoppers buzz past you as you process what just happened.

Blinking, you hesitantly fidget with your bag of coins, confused as crew members shop for certain items. All of them have some sort of pouch full of coins, and then it dawns on you.

An allowance.  This was an allowance. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re in public, you might’ve laughed. You assume it was Whitebeard that issued this order to the commanders.

_They really do consider the old man their father._

Well, you might as well take advantage of this opportunity. Tugging the little sack open, you make an estimate of how much you’ve been given as you start walking again, boots crunching on the white sand.

There’s enough for a good quality sword. Maybe a flintlock, if you were lucky.

Happy with your calculations, you pocket your money, still walking as you survey the area. You didn’t know where you‘re headed, but you hope that you’ll stumble upon a weapon’s seller soon.

(x)

So, in the end, you did end up finding a weapon’s seller.

But you also found a little store that sells clothing. And you’d found the _perfect_ long coat.

Now, you know that you’re faring just fine with the white, long-sleeved shirt you’re currently wearing and the bandages, but it never hurt to be on the safe side, right? At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself, hands tucked in your new, comfortable pockets. This leathery addition to your outfit stops right below the kneecaps, with buttons lining one side of it down to your hips, further concealing your figure. The bulkiness of the coat makes your shoulders appear broader, and there are flaps forming the collar that, while not your intention, dragged a person’s eyes to your face.

Basically, the best thing you’ve bought in a long time. It’s not too heavy, but it also protects you from other elements. And seeing as this is the Grand Line and the weather can be unpredictable at times, you very much approve of your choice.

You roll your shoulders, patting your chest, where a cheap flintlock is secured in its holster. A tiny satchel packed with ammo hangs from your thigh. You’ve also purchased a sword, better quality than the flintlock, to protect yourself better. That old dagger of yours just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

These three things bring back some sense of completion to your heart. It’s silly, really, just how much of a confidence boost they were. It was almost like they were parts of a puzzle, the final goal being putting yourself back together again.

You still have enough money to buy yourself a drink, but you’re not sure if you want to head to a bar just yet. There’s bound to be plenty of people flooding the building right now, and you don’t want too many people around you right now. You’ve had enough social interaction for an hour or so.

People beside little stands wave at you and try to coax you to approach them, but you don’t listen to them. You’d already bought what you needed, and too many things would only weigh you down later on. Besides, it’s not like you had a place to keep trinkets and other, less crucial things.

The part of town you’ve entered is less populated, with fewer buildings, but still noisy with the Whitebeards roaming about. No one pays attention to you, which you appreciate. You want to have a few minutes to yourself, just to ponder over your plan and tweak it if ne-

“(name),”

You freeze, fighting to keep your expression neutral but unable to help a sharp inhale. Staring ahead, you mechanically reach for your sword, before realizing that that would not be the best idea. Guiding your hand to your bag of coins, you feign ignorance and pour the contents into your hands, counting each one.

“…have you heard?”

The voice is male, distant, a whisper. Your eyebrows twitch anxiously, heart rate spiking as blood rushes by your ears. Every other voice and sound is replaced by this man’s words.

“Yeah,” There’s another one. “What about her?”

_She was a miserable excuse of a human being. She abandoned her crew. She deserves every bit of suffering caused by the loss of her ship and friends._

Your body moves automatically; your eyes zero in on the individuals, burning holes into the newspaper. The coins in your hand rattle noisily, the sound bouncing off your eardrums painfully.

They notice you. Of course, they notice you. You’re not hidden in the shadows, away from everyone and everything that could hurt you. You’re not in your room. Both men share apprehensive looks. One of them tosses the newspaper to the side and nudges his friend into motion. And then they’re gone, their words trailing after them and the answer to the question never to be heard by you.

You follow the paper with your eyes, catching a glimpse of a very familiar photo on one of the pages. Again, your body acts before your mind, bringing your closer to the discarded item.

Snatching it off the floor, you flip through two pages before finding your face – your bright, cocky smile, your longer hair, your old weapons. The girl pointing a gun at the camera is foreign to you.

You narrow your eyes at the headline, grip on the paper tightening impossibly.

**_(LAST NAME) (NAME)._ **

_Following the events of the arduous battle, (last name) (name) has perished, along with her crew and ship._

These events are far from recent. The date at the top is two or three weeks back. Plus, there was just no way you could make it to a front page again. You’ve kept your head low and have not appeared in any more photos since… since the day the Marines released your wanted poster, really.

Still, you keep reading.

_Many bodies were recovered, both marine and pirate alike, while others are assumed to be lost at sea._

That was good and bad. Good, because that means that nobody is actually searching for you. Bad because they’d found the bodies of your friends. You wonder if they died knowing that you’d abandoned them.

_The warrant officer that carried out the mission, Morio Juba, has now been promoted to lieutenant._

You don’t know how many times you read that one sentence, carving the odd name into your mind. People look at you strangely when you bury your nose in the paper, trying to glean any information about the man’s whereabouts. If you could sail there while remaining under the radar, you could surely catch him off guard.

Tearing the paper away from your face, you stare in the direction of the docks, determination and fury mixing to create a raging inferno inside you. If only it was night time. If only you could continue to feel this way for eternity and not just in sporadic intervals. If only you weren’t afraid to leave. Then maybe you could’ve gotten something done already, instead of moping around on a ship full of strangers.

You rake a hand through your hair, feeling your fingers shake in exasperation. Rolling the newspaper up, you check inside your long coat for an inside pocket and are delighted when you find one. Stuffing the paper inside it, you fix your jacket and collar and keep moving.

There’s a lot you need to think about.

First, the fact that you hadn’t taken newspapers into consideration when joining the Whitebeard Pirates. Just… just what in the hell? News Coo travel all over the place except the calm belt, which means that people are going receive information one way or another. And considering the fact that this newspaper was published shortly after your ship’s downfall, someone must’ve made some sort of connection.

But, if this crew was anything like some people in your crew, the chances were that they couldn’t read. Some, at least.

You’re sure that only Cherry and Whitebeard and _maybe_ Marco know more than they should. Nobody else does, and you intend to keep it that way.

Second, who the hell is _Morio Juba_? It might be because he might’ve been a warrant officer, but you had no information on him whatsoever. Maybe you could scour the town for more… _without_ creeping out the locals, like you did to those men.

And third, you finally had a clue. The information was limited, sure, and you still had a few preparations to make, but you’re sure you could finally get the ball rolling with just a name.

Patting your jacket, where the newspaper resides, you strut towards the tavern. You could spend a couple of minutes there brainstorming and planning.

The building isn’t far and it’s effortless to find. When you get there, a couple of the Whitebeard Pirates greet you by raising their drinks over their heads, grinning amiably. You wave at them, pushing the double doors open and scanning the area. There’s an empty table in the farthest corner of the room, secluded. You hope that nobody is sitting at that table because they don’t want to and not because someone decided to do something stupid on it.

Traversing the room, you slip by men and women, nodding or smiling when someone recognizes you. Somehow, after your discovery, you expect people to start calling you by your real name. Every time someone announces your fake name happily, you relax a little more.

You’re (fake name) and nobody else. Now, if you could leave before anyone else finds the truth about your identity, the better.

Slumping down on the nearest chair, you peek into your coat as if to reassure yourself that the paper is still there. Extracting it from your coat, you decide to read the rest of the pages in case there’s more information on that warrant officer/lieutenant.

As you read, you listen to the noises around you, alert. Men are singing whatever song they come up with while others converse amongst each other, sharing stories and whatnot. Somewhere, you believe you hear Thatch retelling a mighty tale for other, new yet not as recent as you, crewmembers.

There’s not much, to be honest. There is news about a restaurant and other things, like towns being threatened by pirates you had never heard of.

People come and go. You try your best to remain aware of who is coming closer, and for the most part, you do a pretty good job. A man seems that had wandered a bit too close is taken off guard when your head snaps upward. You don’t even know how you sensed him in the first place, but at least he didn’t see anything, so you don’t think about it too much.

Then, out of nowhere, a pint of rum is placed in front of you. Raising your head in surprise, you spot Ace, standing there confidently a second drink in his hand.

“Hey, (fake name)!” He says over the noise, and you blink, smiling up at him.

“Ace,” You nod your head respectfully, using your arm to hide the newspaper from him, achingly and so very excruciatingly slowly. Specifically, the page with your face on it.

“Mind if I sit here with you?” He asks, already placing his drink down on the table. You shake your head, folding the newspaper up and stuffing it into your jacket again. Bringing your drink to your lips, you savour the harsh taste of rum, ignoring the burning sensation that follows as you swallow and the frantic beating of your heart.

“I see you’ve bought yourself a few things.” Ace points out happily. You glance down at your clothing, smirking as you meet his eye again.

“Yeah… about time I did, I think.” You return, drinking some more. Ace grins.

“Looks good,” He says, and you don’t know why, but his compliment makes you sit up straighter. You don’t even mean to do it.

“Thank you,” You say earnestly, smiling shyly and feeling proud of your decision. Ace and you sit in cordial silence for a little bit, watching what seems to be the second division fooling around the tavern. Men motion Ace over, trying to cajole him to join them in their fun, but each time the man raises a hand and shakes his head, remaining seated. It’s rather… curious. You’d taken him as a person to join in on whatever the crew was up to.

“What were you reading?” Ace prompts after a minute or two, and you cringe inwardly. _Damn_ _it_.

“Newspaper,” You state plainly, deciding to pull said item back from your jacket. The less suspicious you act, the less you’ll have to worry later in the evening.

“Ah,” Ace frowns slightly, eyes zeroing in on the article you’ve placed between you two. “Don’t believe anything they say. Most of it is marine propaganda, anyway.”

“I know,” You laugh. “I was just curious, is all.” Ace’s frown melts away now that he knows you’re not that stupid. Of course you know there’s propaganda. If the marines were as great as they claim to be, you would’ve died the second you let your flag fly.

Ace hums, twisting the paper with his left hand so that he can read it. “Oh,” He exclaims, then starts chuckling loudly, the rim of his pint gently touching his lips. “Good place. The seafood was great at that one.” He takes a swig from his beverage, leaning his head back.

Realizing that he’s talking about the restaurant on the first page, you tilt your head to study the picture again. “You’ve been there?”

Ace slams his wooden mug on the table with a satisfied sigh, covering his mouth to muffle a burp and nodding. “Oh yeah, I’ve been there. The chefs at that place were relentless when I left.” That takes a minute of processing, but you catch on swiftly.

 _Ah,_ you think, _a dine and dasher, then._ “Really?” You inquire, laughing internally when Ace nods vigorously, dark locks of hair bouncing with his actions. “Are they still chasing you?”

At this, Ace cranes his neck to check the tavern, suddenly alarmed. When he sees no one with a chef hat trying to murder him with a wooden ladle, he relaxes, earning a low chuckle from you. “Nope. Wouldn’t shock me if they were, though. I had a guy that kept following me, no matter what island I went to, for four days.”

“That… I can actually imagine that.” You muse, a finger pressed to your lips as you feign thought. Ace laughs at your remark, confident and careless.

“You should try it.” He says after he’s sobered up, and you shake your head fondly. “Bah, come on. It’s fun! You should join me sometime!”

“Nah… I’m not that kind of guy.” You shake your head a second time.

“Well,” Ace shrugs, “The offer still stands if you ever want to join me.”

“I’ll think about it.” You reply, downing the rest of your drink in one go. Ace’s gaze lingers on you for a little too long, but you act like you don’t notice as you sigh and leave your mug on the table.

When you’re done, Ace’s gaze flits to the window behind you, “Well, I think it’s time for me to go. Need to drag Marco out of his room.”

“Marco?” What was wrong with him?

Ace’s smile falters a little before it appears again with a small chuckle. “That guy likes to lock himself in his room and work himself to the bone, is all. Nothing to worry about… yet.”

“Oh, okay.” You respond, understanding. _Work?_ As in, _paperwork?_ Pirates doing paperwork? That was… a bit odd, wasn’t it?

“All right, see ya, (fake name)!” Ace jumps up from his seat, “Remember, the offer to join me in my endeavours still stands!”

“Yeah, yeah…” You drawl, waving a hand dismissively and watching him run out the door, content.

 _It’s too bad you’re leaving…_ Your brain throws at you, and the pleased smile on your face is replaced by a defeated sigh. _You could’ve had so much fun with them._

 _Ah, shut up, you obstinate organ._ You growl back, eyebrows pinching as you too stand and make your way outside. The sun is beginning to set, tinting the sky in a mixture of oranges and pinks. Descending down the steps, you glance left and right before heading in a random direction, hoping to clear your mind before the time comes.

_If it does._

You grumble to yourself, wanting to repeatedly smack your brain for being so damn stubborn.

(x)

“Ace, I have paperwork to do,” Marco grumbled, yet made no move to spin around and head back to the ship. Ace rolled his eyes at the blond’s complaining, a hand on the man’s back to guide him to the tavern.

“Come on, Marco. Just take a break already.” Ace replied, grinning when Marco shook his head. “Even Pops was telling you to go when I came in.” The blond grumbles some more at his last remark, blue eyes downcast.

“Fine,” The blond mumbled at last, letting himself be led into the building. Immediately, the remaining crewmembers inside chorused a cacophony of greetings. Marco smiled wearily, sitting at the table where Thatch is still telling stories.

“And then, out of nowhere, you see Ace _flying_ through the air and into the water-”

“Hey!” Ace yelled, “You said you wouldn’t tell the new guys!”

“I lied,” Thatch cackled when Ace threw himself at him, pushing the younger man’s face while carrying on with his tale. Other men nearby chuckle at their antics, mugs in hands as they listen to them bicker. When Thatch doesn’t stop, Ace kicks the man in the shin and promptly puts an end to whatever he was going to say after.

Huffing, Ace plops down next to Marco, cheeks slightly red from the embarrassment of being the butt of one of Thatch’s jokes. Again.

“He just doesn’t know when to stop,” Ace crosses his arms, tone of voice low as he glares warningly at Thatch, who's beginning a new story. This time, it’s about Marco, but the man either doesn’t care or is far too exhausted to care. Probably both.

“You know him ~yoi,” Marco says after a minute, “Once he gets going, there’s no stopping him.”

Ace huffs mutely but refrains from making any further comment. Thatch quits making fun of him behind his back, re-telling an old classic instead. Rakuyo is far too drunk to register the fact that it’s about the time that Thatch hid dog treats in his vest, leading to Stefan following the man everywhere he went. The poor guy had the dog leaping on his back for two hours straight.

Fifteen minutes later, Ace hears Marco grunt as he rolls his shoulders and stands up. Ace gazes up at him questioningly until the blond clarifies what he’s doing.

“I’m taking a walk ~yoi,” Marco explains, already heading to the door and not even flinching when Ace suddenly appears beside him. “What? You think I’m going back to the ship?”

“Just making sure,” Ace shrugs. Marco sends him an unimpressed look but doesn’t argue, sandals scraping against the sand as he trudges through the dark street. It’s mostly empty now that the sun has set, with only a few people they know wandering around. The locals have all retired to their beds for the night.

Ace and Marco don’t bother filling the silence with words as they make their way down the street, each lost in their own thoughts.

“You know, someone has to deal with the restocking of the supplies ~yoi.” Marco muses out loud, and Ace agrees. Today, they’d let their divisions have their fun, considering they haven’t touched land in a long while.

“You think Haruta would be up to that?” Ace wonders.

“No ~yoi.” Marco chuckles, “But it’s his division’s turn, anyway, so…”

Ace shakes his head, lips stretching into a grin at the thought of Haruta taking the task. He’d probably roll his eyes, take the list of things they need and grumble the whole time it took him to purchase everything.

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t end up too mad about it.” The raven-haired man adds.

They fall back into a comfortable silence, observing the world around them. Ace spots a couple of his men walking in their direction and waves at them. The men return his greeting each in their own way and keep on walking in the direction of the ship.

“I think I should be heading back, too.” The blond murmurs, the sound of sandals scraping against the sand coming to an end. Ace sends Marco a look of concern. “To sleep, Ace, to sleep.” Ace relaxes, happy to hear that he wasn’t going to go overwork himself again.

“Good,” Ace says firmly as he faces Marco. The blond rolls his eyes but not unkindly.

“When did you start acting like  the older sibling ~yoi?”

Ace pauses, mouth forming a small ‘o’ before he scoffs, crossing his arms. “Since you decided to pull all-nighters doing paperwork, you turkey.”

“Ouch, Ace. Ouch.” Marco said monotonously, eyes finding something in the distance that made him blink in surprise. Ace’s eyebrows furrowed, and his head immediately swivelled to where Marco was looking, thinking it was a marine or an idiot trying to pick a fight.

What he didn’t expect was to see you, at this time of the night, marching with purpose down the street towards them. You stopped when you saw them both staring at you, hands curling into nervous fists. A fraction of a second later, you were moving again, this time with a rigidness that Ace can’t comprehend.

Ace ignores your stiffness and raises a hand, smiling. Marco smiles as well, waiting for you to reach the two of them before speaking.

“Didn’t expect you to be out so late, (fake name).” The blond said when you were within earshot, and you smiled through your unease.

“I was just taking a walk.” You explain, voice smooth from the many times you’d repeated the one sentence while making your way through the town. You knew that you were bound to cross paths with someone from the crew, but…you hadn’t expected two of the most notable people on the ship. Not them.

Well, whatever. There was no time for mistakes now. The only reason you’d taken this street was that you recognized it and because it was the fastest way to the docks, but maybe you should’ve stuck to the covert alleyways…

“Enjoying the first day on land?” Ace piped in, tilting his head to the side. You shifted from one foot to the other, gulping past the lump in your throat before replying.

“Yeah,” You breathed, surveying the buildings with fondness. Today had actually been very entertaining, which was- _stop,_ don’t think about it. “Yeah, I am. You?”

“Yep.” Ace replied, crossing his arms and not missing how you averted your gaze elsewhere.

“You okay, ~yoi?” Marco is the one to speak this time, inching forward with a teeny-tiny yet still noticeable gleam in his eye.

You lift your chin a bit as you regard him with your shaky grin, feet digging into the sand. “Yeah, just… tired.” _Tired of thinking. Tired of talking. Tired of lying. Just want to leave so I don’t have to do any of these things anymore._

How you were still keeping up the act around them was beyond you. You’re not being convincing, you’re not acting naturally, and you’re not relaxed. They’ve both noticed the fact that you’re stiff as hell and they probably know you’re up to something, too.

“Well, it’s a good time to go to bed ~yoi,” Marco replies, already turning around to do just that.

“Night, Marco.” Ace calls and the man raises a hand to wave. You wrap your hands around your middle, nails digging into the skin. _They know._

Sighing, Ace focuses back on you, but your eyes are still on Marco’s fading form. _He knows something._

There’s no reason for you to be jumping to these sorts of conclusions, but… oh wait, there is.

But you couldn’t go get Marco and leave Ace behind since he would just catch up and ask unnecessary questions. Besides, you’re pretty sure that no matter how many times you tell yourself you _can_ , you can’t go against the first division commander. There were questions that were still unanswered, sure, but… maybe they weren’t worth your time, after all.

“Are you gonna head back to the ship?” You hear Ace ask, prompting a shake of the head from you after another extended moment.

“I… I don’t want to head back just yet.”

“Cool! Me neither. Wanna go back to the bar?” Ace jerks a thumb towards the faraway building, still brimming with life and activity. You shake your head again. With your appearance? Granted, it probably wasn’t as bad as you think, but you’d rather not risk it.

“I was actually planning on exploring the woods.” You lie right through your teeth, heartbeat stuttering when Ace’s gaze bounces between you and the forest surrounding the town, skeptic.

“Really? What about your injuries?”

What _about_ those old things? Cherry’s painkillers, while very much appreciated, still hadn’t been put to use. The wound on your side was mostly sealed, your leg wasn’t in pain, and the cut on your face was okay as well.

“Old news,” You state, patting your side to prove it. Your actions bring little to no pain.

“In that case…” Ace chirps, casually making his way forward and bumping you with his shoulder, “I’ll race you there!”

What?

“ _Huh?_ ” You heave, clasping a hand around your shoulder and watching him tear off towards the forest. _Huh?!_

Ace halts with a grunt after noticing you’re not moving, feet skidding against the dirt path and forming a cloud of dust. “Come on, (fake name)!” He stands with his hands planted on his hips, waiting. You keep staring, hesitating, mouth slightly agape. Should you… should you go? Entertain him while you’re still here? What would happen if you didn’t run after him? Exactly what you don’t want to happen, which is piss him off or have him interrogate you.

Ridding your body of the feeling of surprise, you close your mouth with an audible _click_ , widen your stance, and sprint after him. Your thoughts seem to be taken aback by your sudden movements, clashing and jumbling together into an incoherent mess. Ace’s smile is blinding as he laughs merrily, whirling back around and taking off again, down and through the street you just came from. Buildings blend together into a hazy blur, windows glinting in the moonlight. The one image that isn’t blurred is Ace, who appears to be glowing as he runs.

Each footstep on the ground is piercing and shakes you to the core because you’re running _away_ , you weren’t _heading the right way,_ but it also helps you stamp those feelings down. The thoughts roar through you like a storm, crashing down like lightning, and yet you keep going. The docks were behind you, and so was the boat you were supposed to steal, but _still_ you kept running. Ace was still far ahead, but you were catching up.

This helped you push yourself to pump your legs faster, harder, carrying you closer and closer to him until you were right behind him. Ace made a sound in the back of his throat when you reach his side, the finish line zeroing in on you both at an alarming pace.

Despite giving it your all, Ace was still a lot stronger than you. Ducking his head and screwing his eyes shut with a smirk, he zoomed past you. His speed was enough to throw you off and force you to slow down to a light jog, envious but mostly amazed.

“I win!” The man cries victoriously from his place in front of the first few trees outlining the entrance to the island’s woodland. You narrow your eyes at him once you’re together again, huffing.

“You had a head start.” You mumble, disgruntled. Ace laughs at that.

“We could race again if you want?” He offers teasingly, pride oozing off him. You roll your eyes with a scoff, choosing to walk past him, twigs snapping underfoot as you do. Ace, shoving a branch aside, chortles at your stubborn silence as he follows after you.

There’s a narrow, dirt path that’s been trampled solid by previous wanderers. Trees frame said path, twisting upwards and blocking the moonlight in odd places. You travel through the woods in silence, listening to the sounds of bugs and the rustling of leaves. Behind you, Ace glances left and right as he trudges on. You don’t know how he doesn’t trip and fall face first.

Even though you’re screaming internally at your own ridiculous decisions, you must admit to yourself that this was fun. Sure, you don’t know where you’re going or what you’ll find, but… well, that’s the interesting part of adventures. You ever knew what to expect.

Eventually, after passing a multitude of trees, bushes, and logs, you come across a clearing. There’s nothing of interest here, except maybe for the moon up in the sky, but you enter it nonetheless, your commander behind you.

“This is nice,” Ace states with a grin. You glance at him furtively, smiling to yourself.

Tall grass brushed your legs as you walked to the very centre of the clearing, hands in your pockets. You count the stars as you go, blaming the racing of your heart on the run. It doesn’t matter that it had happened some time ago.

“How… How is Whitebeard?” You ask suddenly, confounded when Ace decides to sit on the grass. He lies down, removing his hat as he does so and dropping it on his chest. He hums at your question, blinking up at you owlishly before answering.

“He’s better.” He smiles, eyes trailing up to the sky peppered with tiny white dots.

You feel relief settle in your heart at that. Whatever sickness the old man was fighting didn’t look fun, but hearing that he was doing well was good, at least.

You relay the last thought to your commander, and he agrees quietly.

It’s a bit awkward, standing there while he looks like he’s ready to doze, so you quietly sit down beside him.  You make sure to leave plenty of room between you two, hugging your knees to your chest. Grass tickles your ankles and bugs skitter about, fleeing from the two forms disrupting their lives. You wish you could do that too.

You say nothing else, content with remaining silent if only to focus on the emotions wreaking havoc inside your mind. It feels like there are two people in your brain right now, ordering you to do something that contradicts whatever the other is feeling.

_Leave, stay, leave, stay._

_Go find that stupid ship and get out._

_Stay here._

You pick at the grass, tugging at dead blades and crushing dried leaves between your fingers. Your hand wanders the ground, weaving through the delicate green expanse in search of more. The task distracts you from whatever is going on around you.

Reaching behind you, your fingers collide with a weed, and you snap it in half in your quest to extract it from the soil. Little seeds, alerted by the intrusion and jerky motions, take off to the sky, spread, and disappear elsewhere in the field. You hold the bare flower in your hand, the stem bent and twisted from your strength.

Tossing it aside, you focus back on your commander, who hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes. You haven’t either, but that’s not a surprise to anyone, especially Ace. During the welcoming party, he had done most of the talking and joking.

Ace’s arms act as a makeshift pillow and his eyes are closed, expression neutral, chest expanding with each relaxed inhale. Was he tired? If so, you feel bad for dragging him out here, but then again he was the one that raced you.

“Tired?” You ask, hoping that he wasn’t actually sleeping. His lips twitch and downturn somewhat.

Ace draws in a breath, holds it for a second then exhales noisily. “Nah, I’m all right.” He sits up, placing his hat back on his head. He wipes a stray blade of grass off his shoulder, staring up at the sky.  

Somehow, that didn’t sound ‘all right’ to you.

“Should we head back to the ship?” You carry on anyway because you don’t want to say anything stupid like up at the crow’s nest. _The way you’re supposed to act…_ _Sheesh_. “I don’t think this is the nicest place to sleep, after all.”

Ace hums thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as he stares at the edge of the clearing. Without providing an answer, he rises to his feet, extending a hand towards you. You readily accept it, pulling yourself off the grass.

“Let’s go back,” He says at last, releasing your hand, a friendly gleam in his eye. Spinning around, he begins the trek to the town. You would’ve followed an instant later, but… what the heck is with your hand?

Glancing up at the man walking away, you trail after him, curling your hand into a fist as you examine it. Warmth that wasn’t there a second ago lingers in the centre of your palm. Lifting your eyes, you find Ace’s hand and let your eyes bounce between the two. He’d done that.

Lowering your arm to your side, you shake off the surprise and pay attention to your surroundings.

You had to admit, though, that his devil-fruit could be unnerving. Not just because he’d gained the power to produce flames and whatever else, but because it was constantly reminding every one of its presence.

When it was too hot, Ace would remain unbothered while others (mainly Izo) cursed the dreaded sun. If you were too close, you could feel the heat radiating off him. And now, with just a simple touch, he’d made the temperature of your hand rise. Usually, when you think of fire, it’s an uncontrollable force, and yet here this guy was tossing it from his fingertips like it was nothing. It was… terrifying, if you thought about for long enough.

And strangely, rather interesting as well.

(x)

Ace could feel something was up.

Scratch that, he _knew_ something was up.

Perhaps it was his ever-present skepticism from his youth, still there to cause trouble, perhaps it was him still feeling a tad guilty for his carelessness as a commander. Whatever it was, it wasn’t leaving him alone.

Stepping over a log, he makes sure you make it over without falling or tripping as well. Your eyes are on the ground, making sure you don’t stray from the path, but you’re relaxed. There’s not a single sign of unease in the way you move, which should give him enough reason to believe that whatever was running through that mind of yours earlier has gone.

And yet it doesn’t.

Because your first encounter after you both chatted at the bar was still in the back of his mind, persistent.

When you first spotted both Ace and Marco, you halted, and he could understand that to some degree. You probably weren’t anticipating any more socializing. He’d watched you avoid the crew during your first few days like they all carried some sort of disease. It was clear you weren’t too fond of opening yourself up.

But then the incident with the marines and the aftermath happened, and he’d hoped that after all that, you’d feel less afraid. That the stiffness in your shoulders, the muffled laughter, and your hesitance when it came to conversing would all become part of the past.

And he guessed it did, somewhat. You’d cracked a few jokes and had felt obligated to discuss with him what had happened after the fight, which he respected. You didn’t hide in the shadows anymore and even joined a few conversations while they sailed towards the island.

Which made the feeling of dread lurking in the back of his mind a completely unreasonable.

Without realizing, you had both made it out of the woods. Stopping, Ace checked on you a second time, doing his best to ignore his worries. You move past him gracefully, gripping the end of your coat so it doesn’t get snatched by a bush.

Again, he watched you stop almost mechanically, shoulders squaring as you observed what was ahead of you. He stepped forward, plastering a smile on his face, willing his legs to carry him onwards.

You followed, obviously, and the rest of the walk back was spent in silence.

It was not until the both of you were on the sandy, worn wood of the docks and up the bridge to the ship that he spoke.

“By the way, hate to break it to you, but you’re going to have to join the division’s berth below deck soon.” Ace explained, scratching the back of his neck when you did nothing but blink at him. “I know you don’t like people that much, but-”

“It’s fine,” You cut him off, eyes trained on another part of the docks. Facing him, you smiled, (hair colour) hair billowing around your face. Ace returned it then proceeded to jump on the ship’s deck, yawning audibly. Today had been draining, to say the least.

“Well, I’m gonna go hit the hay.” He declared, stretching languidly. You hopped down on the deck as well, chuckling at his antics.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna do that too.” You mumble, then, “Goodnight, Ace.”

“G’night!” He chirped, waving once before heading in the direction that would lead him below deck and to the comfort of his bedroom. He could feel your eyes on him, but he made no move to acknowledge them.

All he had to do was hope that you weren’t planning something stupid. And if you were, he hoped it didn’t involve mutiny or anything along those lines.

Admittedly, that would hurt him pretty extensively.

He would protect Pops without a hint of a doubt, that’s for damn sure, but… for some reason, the thought of you betraying them brought a knot to his gut.   

So lost in thought was he that when he reached the hallway that housed the rooms for the commanders, he had to pause, take a step back, and remember how he’d ended up there to begin with.

“Sheesh…” He murmured to himself, rubbing his shoulder as he trudged past multiple rooms. When he passed Marco’s, he leaned closer to the door in case the man was still awake.

He was delighted to find that no, there was no muffled mumbling or a light peeking out from beneath the wood. Relieved, he reached his destination, feeling less worried as he cracked the door to his room open and entered.

Not even ten seconds later, he flopped down on the bed, rolled over so that he was on his back, removed his hat, and slept, snoring softly.

(x)

Now was the time.

Your eyes flicked to the stars, teeth worrying your lip, heart lurching in your chest.

_Now was the time._

With Ace and Marco sleeping soundly and not a soul in sight, you could finally steal that dumbass boat and flee. You could _finally_ set things in motion.

You whipped around, rushing back down the bridge and sprinting to the place where you last saw men tending to their vessels. There wasn’t much of a breeze, but that was okay as long as there were oars available, which was more than likely. Still, there was enough wind to get you _somewhere._

Ships entered your line of vision, lined up with relatively large distances between each, and you slowed down to a breathless walk. You didn’t mind the space between the ships. Wariness made sailors feel the need to space themselves out, which was what you’d done with your ship.

The first ship was adequate. There was noticeable damage on the hull and the sails weren’t at their finest, either. Plus, it was a bit big for one person to handle. You weren’t looking for a rowboat, per se, but something that could be managed by a single person.

The next one seemed in better shape. Its size was what you were looking for, but when you got on it, you noticed the sail was drilled with holes as if bullets had been shot through it.

After discarding the idea of taking that boat, you moved onto the next one and found it to be the right one. It was nothing compared to your brig, your home, but it would suffice. There was one mast as well as two oars, and a pair of barrels for storage, you assume.

 _So, I’ve picked a boat._ You think idly, running a hand along the railing of it. _Now I just need a…_

_Log pose._

A **log pose**.

“ _God fucking damn it all how could I forget-_ ” You trail off angrily, fighting back a groan and facepalming sharply. Of course. The one, tiny thing that can save your life out in the grand line and you forgot about it completely.

You’re not a navigator. You know some things about cartography, reading maps, and navigation, but had you dedicated enough time and energy to become a master at it? No. That’s why you’d searched every nook and cranny for a suitable candidate to fit that role when you first set sail.

You remember your navigator strapping a log pose to her wrist, grinning and puffing her chest when you gave it to her and jokingly pleaded her to get you to the next island.

Your heart aches at the memory, the wounds still annoyingly fresh for you to think about your crew without hurting. Closing your eyes, you breathe in to appease the storm of emotions inside you and _think._

_Where can I find a log pose?_

You shove any feelings pestering you and the need to sit down and do nothing aside, willing your brain to come up with a solution to this ridiculous problem. There _has_ to be someone around here with a log pose, but who?

You doubt any of the villagers here have one. They’re villagers for a reason, after all. They don’t travel nearly as much as pirates and when they do, they probably don’t venture too far.

Your mind travels back to the events from the last couple hours or so. At the tavern, you’d been too busy reading to really pay attention to anybody, so that was useless to think about.

Then the conversation with Ace. How he’d warned you about the propaganda then proceeded to follow up that conversation. How he’d grabbed the newspaper and commented on that restaurant then offered that you join him.

_His wrist._

He was the only person you remember having a log pose secured to his wrist.

You lower yourself to the floor of the boat, covering your face with your hands and bemoaning your situation.

Out of the thousand people on the crew, the only one you’d seen with a damn log pose was **_him_** _._

“Fuck.”

You’d rather face an entire fleet of marines than **_him_**.

“Why… why did it have to be him…?” You hissed in vexation, hands balling up and digging into your temples.

Well, he’s already sleeping, so trying to get it from him was impossible. Someone would see you sneaking around and stop you. Probably a commander, considering some of them are likely to have Haki at their disposal.

You let loose a string of colourful words, lifting yourself from the floor and shakily climbing out of the boat and back on the docks. You’re still attempting to crush your brain with your fists, eyes filling with tears.

_I’m so **stupid**. _

You’d forgotten so many things – so many elements in this meek, pathetic plan of yours are so _wrong,_ and all because you’re _stupid_ and keep thinking of staying when you _can’t._ You don’t belong on Whitebeard’s ship. You’re not meant to be alive right now, damn it.

You rub the tears from your eyes, guilt, anger, and shame closing around your throat and suffocating you.

“Oi! What are you doing over there?!”

You gasp, dropping into a defensive stance as you whirl around, eyes befalling a person in the distance.

You’d already said it once before. People in Whitebeard’s crew, seeing as a lot of them were outcasts, declared freaks, _unique_ were recognizable from miles away. This was why you didn’t immediately run, because you recognized him, and were he to see you flee it would merely arouse suspicions. And he didn’t look too jolly right now.

The breeze rustling your hair stopped as if waiting with bated breath what would happen to you now that you’ve been caught.

Shoulders drawing back, you press your lips together anxiously, eyes still somewhat watery.

His gait was confident and _fast_ as he speed-walked over to you, eyebrows pulled together in what you fear is anger. Needless to say, he didn’t appear too happy to see you.

You dare a step backwards, nails digging into your thigh. There was no way you were weaselling your way out of this one.

Why him? Why did he have to be the one finding you when you’re drowning in your own thoughts? At this point, you can effortlessly conclude the universe is toying with you and your emotions.

And if the fear mingling with the alarm, desperation, and utter _shame_ making your entire body tremble was anything to go by, you’d say you’re correct.

Your lips parted, a name you’re not brave enough to call out sitting on the tip of your tongue.

_Thatch?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I just have your attention for one more minuto?
> 
> I know I talk a lot and whatever but I just want to say that, seriously, thank you for waiting. I'll try my best to have the next chapter out sooner, pals. Hopefully, this one was still somewhat enjoyable.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


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